In The Darkness I Remain
by PerfectDisaster22
Summary: When the new students arrive at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter is presented with a journal that was written by the woman who betrayed him. Now, the only way to face the future is for Harry to understand the past.
1. The Notebook

**Disclaimer and Other Not-Fun Legal Matters**: I do not own the characters or world of Harry Potter. All Potterverse-related things belong to J.K. Rowling. No copywrite infringement is intended. It's not plagiarism, it's fanfiction, please don't sue me!

For the most part, this story does not follow HBP or DH canon. I may incorporate elements of those stories, but I definitely have my own plot in mind, and so I had to break canon in ways both big and small (not that I really minded; I love breaking canon). Additionally, I don't like to follow the fact that Harry was born in 1980. I moved his birth year to 1988, pretty much because I felt like it (and because I didn't want to deal with anachronisms).

* * *

September 01, 2018

The eleven-year-old boy followed the stern, elderly witch closely, feeling very small as they walked through the stately castle. He had lived in opulent manors his entire life, but there was something magical about this place, something special. After the first five hallways and two moving staircases, he stopped trying to keep track of where they were going; he merely followed the witch.

They stood before the phoenix statue that marked the entrance to the Headmaster's office for a moment. The boy took a deep breath, clutching an expensive, leather-bound journal. He wondered if he was ready to do this. Was he ready to meet the most famous wizard in the world?

Before he could compose himself, the statue had moved, he was being propelled up the staircase, and the witch had opened the office door and ushered him in.

"James Malfoy, Headmaster," she said in her Scottish brogue.

The Headmaster had been writing, his head buried in his parchment. However, when he heard the boy's name, his head snapped up, and he stared at the boy, who stared back.

The Headmaster had gone through some of the most horrific ordeals in human experience, but none of it showed on his thirty-year-old face. His black hair was as thick and unruly as it had ever been, his face still unlined, his eyes as deep and as bright a green as always.

As the boy examined the Headmaster, the Headmaster observed the boy. Thick, unruly black hair, pale skin, green eyes… Just add glasses and an infamous scar, and he could've been looking at himself nineteen years ago.

"Hello, James," the Headmaster said, standing. "Welcome to Hogwarts."  
"Hello, sir," James said politely.

For a moment, they merely stared at each other.

"How's your mother?" the Headmaster finally asked quietly.  
James shrugged. "Same as always, sir. She wanted me to give you this."

He offered the Headmaster the notebook he'd been carrying. The Headmaster took it slowly, not sure he wanted to see what was inside, and at that moment wishing that James had been enrolled at any other magical school in the world than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Was that all?" he asked the boy, who nodded and headed for the door. "Oh, and James?"

The boy turned, one eyebrow slightly raised in an expression that the Headmaster recognized all too well. Despite the painful twist of the knife in his heart, he smiled.

"Congratulations on being Sorted into Gryffindor."

James smiled back and left. Harry Potter watched his young stranger of a son leave his office, then looked down at the notebook in his hand. It was black leather, with a family crest embossed in silver, and three initials beneath it.

ASM

Harry sighed heavily, the knife digging in further. Those three letters represented a world of pain, a whirlpool of emotions. Did he really want to open this book and rip open all those scars again?

Did he have a choice?

He took the book and retreated to his private quarters. Waving his hand to give himself a bottle of Butterbeer, he sat in his favorite armchair and opened the book.

At first, he just looked at the writing. Black ink formed into a graceful, elegant script, the letters precisely formed. Not a mistake on the page or a stroke out of place. Just like her. He flipped through the book; every page had been perfectly filled. It looked like a diary, or a very long letter.

Flipping back to the first page, he braced himself, and began to read.


	2. Betrayed

**Author's Note**: Special thanks to FantasyFan5 for the review and interest in this little yarn of mine.

This chapter is basically the foundation for the entire story; the whole point is to explain the whithertos and wherefores of what happened to Harry Potter on April 17, 2007. As I was writing my plot out oh so many months ago when I decided to pick this story back up, I planned it out so that the story reads like Sophocles' _Oedipus Rex_- the further this story goes, the more backstory you get. So you won't fully understand everything until the last chapter.

That being said, if you get confused about motives or events along the way, please don't hesitate to contact me. I will explain as best I can.

**Disclaimer**: I'm about to break canon in a really big way. I know this. Please don't waste my time by pointing out that what I'm about to do is impossible in the Potterverse; I know it is. I'm doing what I'm doing for a reason, and I swear it's a better reason than "I'm a tweenie fangirl and wrote a Mary Sue story with impossible deux ex machinas because I can't come up with a plot that makes sense". Not that I have anything against tweenie fangirls who do that…

_

* * *

_

Harry-

_I'm sure that this is the last thing you ever expected to receive from me. Well, it's the last thing I expected to write. I'm not even positive why I'm doing this, what I hope to achieve by writing this. What possible good could it do to write this, now that five years have passed?_

_Closure, perhaps. Maybe writing everything down will help me to finally end the huge mess that is our story. Or perhaps I just feel an overwhelming compulsion to let everything out, to put everything into words in an attempt to make sense of it all._

_I'm sure by now you're wondering what you're reading, why I entrusted James to give this to you. What could I possibly have to say, that I would take the time to fill this book and then hope that you would read it?_

_I once said that you would know all, Harry. That someday I would explain. Now is that time. This is my explanation of my betrayal, of the Time of Darkness, and of the circumstances that led us to who and where we are today._

Harry stared at the words, dumbstruck. Explain? _Her_? She had never explained herself or her motives to anyone. It was one of the things he'd grudgingly admired about her- she did exactly as she pleased, with or without one's blessing. She answered to no one. So why this sudden confession?

_I see that confused expression on your face. I hear the questions in your mind- s__he's never explained herself before- why should she do it now?_

_Maybe I'm doing it __because__ I've never explained. There must still be a reckoning between us; there is still much to be said. But as you're tied to Scotland via Hogwarts and England via the Ministry, and I've promised the Ministry to remain in France… this will have to serve my purposes._

_Why am I doing this now, on paper, and not face to face as you once demanded? Because we ran out of time and chances, I suppose. By the time we were back on civil enough terms to have The Talk, you were only interested in defeating the Dark Lord. After that, we didn't have time to breathe, let alone talk._

_So here it is. My story, my explanation, my confessions. Hopefully you'll find this satisfactory._

_It was a warm spring night, the night you left. The date you chose to go and face your destiny held no significance whatsoever, and I think that was part of the genius of your plan. The Dark Lord, who based almost everything he did off of symbolism, had no reason to suspect that you would choose that night to attack him._

_No one except you knew when the Final Battle, as it had been coined, would occur. But everyone knew what would happen. There was to be a great showdown between Harry Potter, the Chosen One, and the Dark Lord Voldemort. You, using your love for your friends, Sirius, Dumbledore, and your parents as fuel, were going to defeat the Dark Lord, ending the rule of evil and bringing the wizarding world out of the darkness into which it had been plunged._

_But something had happened on that night that no one had expected. Something that had doomed your quest from the moment you stepped out the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place._

_Love had turned on you._

Harry abruptly put down the journal, feeling a familiar, bitter anger welling in him, crawling up his throat and threatening to leave his mouth in a loud, animalistic scream. He stood quickly, striding to the open window and gripping the sill as the September breeze danced across his face. His green eyes scanned the night sky until he found Sirius, the North Star. He kept his gaze on the bright sphere as his memories rose out of the dark corners of his mind, forcing him to relive the most devastating night of his life.

* * *

April 17, 2007

It was a balmy night- not too cool, not too humid. On a night like this, he could be out walking beneath the stars with his fiancée.

Instead, Harry Potter was walking to face his destiny, which had been laid out for him before he was born.

A strange melancholy filled him. He was 19 years old! He'd only barely begun to live! He had a fiancée waiting at Grimmauld Place- was he going to leave her behind, to give birth to their child alone?

He knew Voldemort would be at the Malfoy Manor. He'd converted the place into Death Eater headquarters. On this night, when nothing was expected to happen, he would be here.

The second he stepped through the front gate, his well-honed Auror's senses were on alert. No alarms went off, no safety devices had been triggered, not even a guard had been standing at the gate. There was a conspicuous absence of security.

They were waiting for him.

He walked around the house, going to the gardens in the backyard. A thick, unnatural fog hung low and dense in the air. He proceeded with caution, clutching his wand. A chill of fear swept up his spine as he walked onto the expansive lawn. He couldn't see through the fog, and suddenly he felt very, very alone.

"Harry Potter."

His lip curled as he heard the familiar hoarse, high voice. He stopped moving as the fog slowly lifted… and found himself to be surrounded by a ring of masked Death Eaters.

"So we've come to it at last," Voldemort said, walking forward. "The day when Dumbledore's Chosen One meets his doom."  
"If I die, I take you with me," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous.  
Voldemort smiled. "No, I don't think so, Harry. For you see, I have my own secret weapon."

Harry set his jaw, trying not to let his apprehension show. He would show no fear, no trace of weakness before this, his greatest enemy.

Voldemort smiled again. "Lucius," he said softly. "Fetch the Star and her keeper." Turning back to Harry, he smiled again. "He who has the heart of a Star controls her magic."

Harry's mouth went dry. No… he was bluffing…

But Voldemort never bluffed.

Lucius returned, leading two people his age. Draco's face was abnormally pale and dead; he couldn't even summon a cocky smirk as he looked at his rival. And beside him-

"Alana," Harry breathed.

Her face was perfectly composed as she walked towards him in the black robes of a Death Eater. She looked at Harry with no emotion in her jade green eyes. She was haughty, distant, cold. Everything he'd refused to believe she was.

And that was when Harry realized that he had been betrayed.

Voldemort smiled and turned to Draco. "Make a wish, Draco."

Draco turned to Alana, his expression oddly reluctant. For a moment they just looked at each other, communicating silently, before he drew a breath.

"Disable whatever power Potter has that the Dark Lord has not," he whispered.

Alana walked to Harry, absolutely no emotion in her face. He looked at her, the woman he loved, the woman carrying his child, his fiancée… who knew now knew to be a traitor.

"I never loved you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I only used you to get information for my master. You mean nothing to me. This child I carry isn't yours. And when you're dead, you won't even hold a place in my memories."

She removed the ring he'd given her and threw it on the ground between them, looking into his eyes for a long moment. Then she turned and walked away without a glance behind.

There was a burst of green light, and then-

Only blackness.


	3. Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note**: So, as you have hopefully noted by now, my story jumps back and forth between Alana's journal, Harry's present, and Harry's memories. This is going to happen in just about every chapter; I enjoy telling stories out of chronological order. I hope you'll be able to follow the story; if you have any questions, please please please contact me and I'll do my best to explain the twisted workings of my convoluted mind.

**Disclaimer**: I am fully conscious of the fact that the Killing Curse kills people. So yes, I realize that Harry should not have survived the showdown I wrote in the last chapter. Fear not, the inconsistency will be explained later in the story.

* * *

September 01, 2018

For several long minutes, Harry merely stood at the window, trying to fight back his anger, to breathe, as Ginny had taught him to do.

_Ginny…_

Harry turned to look at the portrait of her that hung over the fireplace. He smiled sadly to himself, but refused to dwell on her. Memories of Ginny belonged to the day. Nighttime, for better or for worse, belonged to Alana. Tonight, especially.

He glanced at the black journal laying inoccuously on the arm of the chair. If everything in that book was going to make him as angry as he was now, he didn't want to read it…

But he felt as if he were being sucked in. For better or for worse, reading this journal was giving him a one-time-only opportunity to peer into Alana's mind, to hear her thoughts and to immerse himself in her psyche. Maybe he, like she, needed this journal and the closure it offered.

Running a hand through his messy hair, he slowly sat down, picked up the book, and started to read again.

_After your defeat, the wizarding world fell into an all-out panic. News of your death and my betrayal spread throughout the world. You were an even bigger hero than you had been before, and I was a worse villain than Voldemort._

_With you gone, the Dark Lord was free to ascend as high as he wanted. He cut down almost all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix-- Bill and Fleur Weasley, Severus Snape, Remus and Tonks Lupin, and so many others. The Dark Lord said their deaths were revenge for the deaths of Death Eaters-- Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov. But we all knew that he was just eliminating those who might try to organize one last resistance._

_The Order of the Phoenix had been cast down. Voldemort controlled the Ministry of Magic by placing Rudolphus Lestrange into the Minister's spot. The wizarding world was laid low._

_And I, the Dark Lord's Star, was exalted. He lifted me up above all others. I was his trusted right hand, the Lady of Darkness and Mistress of Evil, and I ruled the world._

_I was his prisoner, his slave. Anything he wanted, he had Draco wish for, and it was granted. But he rewarded us lavishly for our servitude. We, and the rest of his inner circle, were given his complete protection. All we need do was serve him. All we need do was butcher our humanity, and we were given freedom._

_But my freedom was short-lived. Eighteen months after the Dark Lord's triumph, I led a group of Death Eaters on a raid in Scotland. Our orders were to assassinate Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, Severus Snape, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. My party was ambushed; I was the only one to survive. I was bound and trussed, then brought to an underground justice court. I was tried and convicted, then condemned to a life sentence in Azkaban._

Harry shook his head disbelievingly. She'd been thrown into Azkaban? Why had she not been released by Voldemort?

_I see that incredulous look on your face. You don't understand why the Dark Lord wouldn't rescue me from prison, if he valued me so much._

Harry rolled his eyes; she'd always been able to read his mind. Her ability to pick him apart had always been one of her more infuriating talents…

_Don't be annoyed. Of course I can guess your reactions. You really are very predictable, Harry._

He rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks, Alana."

_You're welcome._

_Anyways… The reason that the Dark Lord didn't come to rescue me is simple. He didn't care. Voldemort didn't care about anyone, except insofar as their usefulness to him. If I was locked in Azkaban, then let me rot there, unless I got out and returned to him._

_Azkaban by this time had been taken over by the underground Ministry, and had been restocked with dementors who'd been heavily bribed to return. I had been put under 24/7 guard._

_I know that many people thought-- and still think-- that I should have been killed for my crimes. But the court knew me too well. They knew I would consider death a friend, a release from my mistakes. For me, a more fitting punishment would be to put me in the dementors' hands, to be forced to relive my mistakes again and again._

_So I was locked in Azkaban. And I was forgotten._


	4. Retribution

**Disclaimer**: If you recognize it from HP or another source, I don't own it, and I didn't intend plagiarism. If you recognized it from elsewhere in my story, congratulations, you've been paying attention. If you recognize it as a plot contradiction, message me and tell me so I can either explain or fix it. Enjoy!

* * *

September 02, 2018

Harry walked down the hall, his hands folded behind his back. He watched the students running towards classes, chattering, completely ignoring the prefects… He smiled to himself. Hogwarts was his safe haven, always had been. Now it was his to protect and control, to love forever.

He smiled as memories from his own school days returned to him. Pranks he'd played with Ron… confrontations with Malfoy… moments he'd shared with Ginny… even memories of Alana floated through his head this morning. They all melded together into one all-consuming contentment as he made his way through the halls of his beloved school.

Slowly, he walked down to the Slytherin common room. He stood before the expanse of blank wall, wondering for a moment if he wanted to enter her lair.

"Salazar," he said.

The wall slid back, revealing a set of stone stairs that led down into the Slytherin common room. It was dark, grim and hard, completely unlike the Gryffindor common room. It was a room that definitely fit the personalities of many Slytherins he'd known. But not her. It had always been easy to imagine her surrounded by the most luxurious furniture and accoutrements. She had always been one of the most elegant, aristocratic women he'd ever met.

He looked up to the fireplace and looked at the portrait hanging there… and there she was.

It was a portrait that Draco had had commissioned after their marriage, Harry dimly remembered. Professor McGonagall had told him that it hung in his study. It was strange, really, to think that they had both loved this version of the woman and not the face the rest of the world knew.

She sat straight-backed, not leaning against the back of the chair. That had been a trait of hers; her grandmother had trained her to be a perfect lady. Her raven-black hair was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a much more casual, messy hairstyle than she ever wore in public. Her black robes were simple, with long sleeves and a V-neck that revealed the heavy locket she'd worn, but absolutely elegant and luxurious. Her clear, fair-complected face was peaceful, thoughtful. One corner of Harry's mouth rose in a cheerless smile; the artist had captured not the woman the world knew, but the one Harry did, the one Draco did.

Her jade green eyes, her beautiful slanting cat-like eyes, met his gaze. Like all wizard portraits, her was animated, but, as in real life, her portrait was very still, moving only when it was warranted. She held Harry's gaze for a long moment… and then a small, secret smile that would make Mona Lisa proud graced her lovely mouth. She didn't speak; she didn't need to. Everything she needed to say was contained in the journal in Harry's quarters.

He let his gaze drop to the placard below the portrait of the woman he'd once loved.

_Lady Alana Sinclair Montblanc Malfoy_  
_Portait donated by Narcissa (Black) Malfoy_

Sighing, he turned and walked out, blinking at how bright the hall was after the gloom of the Slytherin lair. He walked through the castle, avoiding going back to his office. He knew that the moment he went to his rooms, he would reach for the journal, would search for more, would devour the story Alana was laying out for him.

But finally, he could bear the suspense no longer. He returned to his rooms and sat in his armchair, reaching for the journal once more.

_

* * *

_

Five years. Five years in Azkaban. Five years of constantly reliving the worst moments of my life (I know, I know- what bad memories could the spoiled rich girl possibly have?). Five years of being forgotten.

_The isolation didn't bother me. As a matter of fact, I welcomed it. After everything I'd done, all the pain I'd caused, I deserved to be locked away. Keeping me in Azkaban protected the world from the curse of me, Humanity's Bane._

Harry looked up from reading, a thoughtful look on his handsome face.

Alana had always hated her special abilities. She was a Star; she could grant wishes. And the man who held her heart could control her magic. She'd always been careful to guard her heart. She said nothing was so dangerous to humanity as the ability to dream and wish. That's why she called herself Humanity's Bane; she could be the catalyst for the destruction of mankind.

He looked back down at the journal, his mind creating images for him as he read on.

* * *

April 21, 2013

"Who are we going to see?" Hermione Weasley asked her superior, Alastor Moody, as she stood before his desk at the Ministry of Magic.

Moody had been called out of retirement immediately after Dumbledore's death. He had been reinstated as the Head of the Auror Department, and had personally trained Hogwarts' Golden Trio when they entered the Auror program.

Moody stretched out in his chair, easing his wooden leg out. His face was more scarred than ever, and he looked far older, but he had lost none of his genius.

He took his time answering Hermione's question; for a moment he just looked at her. Twenty six-year-old Hermione looked older than her years, but given everything she had seen, that was hardly surprising. Her bushy brown hair was pulled back off her face, her hazel eyes surrounded by the beginnings of age lines. Her pale, tired face hinted at her great strength; her eyes betrayed her fierce intelligent. Her work robes, were worn but not shabby, and her plain gold wedding band sat on her left hand proudly.

"Prisoner number 7318973," Moody replied, handing Hermione the prisoner's file.  
"There's no name," she commented, flipping through the file.

Moody knew perfectly well that there was no name. He had been the one to obliterate the prisoner's name, all hints of the person's identity. 7318973 was a highly sensitive case. If Hermione and Ron couldn't extract the information the Ministry needed from this prisoner, it was very likely that Voldemort would never be overthrown.

"No, there's not. The prisoner's name was obliterated from all records upon admittance into Azkaban," he answered.  
"What's the prisoner in for?" Hermione asked, suppressing a shudder.  
"Several murder charges. But the most important- and the subject you need to get the prisoner talking about- is the accomplice to murder charge," Moody said. "Will you take it?"

Hermione nodded upon seeing the details of the charges, upon realizing who it was that she was being sent to talk to.

"Of course I will," she said, steely determination lacing her voice.

It was the least Hermione could do. She would much rather kill this prisoner, this person who had caused Harry's death. But no, she would go and get the information Moody needed. She owed it to Harry.

* * *

Prisoner number 7318973 was sitting on the chair in her cell, staring blankly at the wall. There were no windows in her cell, which suited her just fine. She spent most of her days sifting through her memories, anyway.

Five years. Five years she had been rotting in here. She amazed the guards who came in to check on her when they brought her her food. After five years, almost all of the prisoners who had come into Azkaban had long since gone insane, driven mad by being forced to constantly remember all of their worst moments. And though she had certainly been forced to relive her most painful memories, she was still as sane as she had been the day she was brought in. The guards were astounded by this, and compared her to Sirius Black, who after twelve years in the prison had still been sane.

But that sanity gave her no comfort. The charges against her still stood, and as far as she was concerned, they were true. She had certainly murdered plenty of Aurors, members of the Order, and Ministry officials since Voldemort took over. And she did consider it her fault that Harry Potter had been killed.

Several times during the past five years, she had dully wondered whether the Dark Lord would get her out of Azkaban. But then she would come back to her senses and would sink deeper into depression. In some sick way, she preferred Azkaban. Being locked in here kept her from being sent to deal death and pain to the rest of humanity. It kept her from hurting people she had once loved. And it gave her a chance to seek retribution, even though she knew absolution for her sins would never come.

Being forced to live was a better punishment for her than death. Death would have mercifully released her from the memories, the charges, the guilt, and her many secrets. But she had been condemned to life.

She didn't turn her head as her cell door was unlocked.

"Get up," the guard said, roughly but not rudely.  
"Why?" she asked, no emotion in her voice.  
"There are two Aurors here to see you," he replied.

He didn't touch her- he was probably afraid to- but it was clear that she had to obey him. What he would have done if she did not obey him, she didn't know, but she didn't press him. She stood and straightened her robes, then made a move to tidy up her hair. But she stopped herself; what did it matter what she looked like?

Automatically, her head lifted until her chin was parallel to the floor, a remnant of her aristocratic Pureblood upbringing. Her eyes sparked in challenge and defiance of the world. Her stride was long and secure as she followed the guard out of her cell.

* * *

Ron and Hermione Weasley stood in the interrogation room, not daring to look at the door or each other. Neither of them wanted to see her. Both of them knew that they had to see her, that for their own sakes they had to be the ones to question her. They needed closure, and this was probably their only chance to get it.

The door opened, and Alana Montblanc walked back into their lives. Ron watched her, five years' worth of anger and hatred boiling in his veins. But he couldn't help but compare the woman before him to the one he'd known five years ago, before she had been shut away from the world.

Her smooth, gliding walk was the same. Her entrance into a room still commanded one's attention. She wore her ragged prison uniform as if it were made of silk. Her outward demeanor was unchanged.

But she was so very different. Her skin was so pale as to be translucent, and she was absolutely skeletal. Her jade green eyes had once sparkled with a fierce intelligence, had once been commanding and arresting. Now, despite the sparkle, they were empty, dead. Hollow. She seemed to be an empty shell, a hollow covering. There was no personality or life left to her.

The indomitable will and fierce spirit of Alana Sinclair Montblanc had finally been broken.

She walked, without looking at either Ron or Hermione, to the table situated in the middle of the room. Without saying a word she lowered herself into the hard wooden chair, crossed her legs, and placed her clasped hands in her lap. She kept her head up, her gaze focused on the stone wall opposite her. The only light in the room came from a single harsh lightbulb that hung directly above her head, unrelentingly shining down on her and creating dramatic shadows in the hollows of her face. Still she didn't move or speak.

"Do you know why you're here?" Hermione finally asked.  
Alana didn't look at Hermione as she answered in her low, well-articulated voice, "It's either because you need information, or you're going to kill me."  
"While I'd like to take the second option," Ron said harshly, "we're here for information."  
She didn't respond to Ron's first statement. "And you're talking to me because?"  
"Because you're the only one who can help us," Hermione said.  
"Don't lie, Hermione. You never were very good at it," Alana said, almost drawling the words.

Her speech had always been a little lazy, slow. She had always known that everyone would hang on her every word, that there was no need for her to rush.

"I'm sure you can get the information from anyone else," she said.  
"No, this time we can't," Hermione said.  
"So, what, I just give you the information? No recompense?" Alana asked.  
"No, we can give you terms," Hermione said. "What do you want?"  
"The Kiss," she said, evenly, quietly.

Hermione stared at Alana, stunned. Whatever she had been expecting, this obviously wasn't it.

"I want the Kiss," Alana repeated. "And then I want my body euthanized."  
Ron shook his head. "It goes against your sentence. You're supposed to stay in Azkaban until your natural death."

Alana's expression didn't change, nor did her gaze shift from the wall. But her voice became sterner, the voice of a woman long accustomed to giving orders, and having those commands obeyed.

"If you don't get me the Kiss, I don't cooperate," she said.  
Hermione put her hands on the table and leaned in. "Let me tell you what the Ministry had in mind. They were going to let you out. If you helped us, they'd acquit you of all charges, and you'd be free."  
Alana still didn't look at Ron and Hermione, and she was still unnervingly still. "The Ministry must be desperate if they'd let a convicted murderer back out onto the streets."  
"Then you don't deny your charges?" Ron asked.  
"They're true," she said with no hint of emotion in her voice. "It didn't happen the way the courts thought it did. But they're true."

Hermione sighed; this was harder than she had expected. She had thought that Alana would be ecstatic to have a chance to get out. She had always hated being restricted. Yet here she sat, asking for death. Truly, she had changed.

"Don't you want to live, Alana?" Hermione asked.  
Alana shook her head. "As long as I'm alive, I'm a threat to the human race. If I'm let out, I'll go back to the Dark Lord."  
"That's what we want, Alana," Hermione said.

For the first time, Alana showed a bit of interest in what the Weasleys had to say. She turned her head to look at them, but didn't say anything.

"After you gave us the information we need, we were going to send you back to Voldemort as a double agent, if you agreed," Hermione continued. "If you helped us defeat Voldemort, you would have been free forever. You would've been put under probation and supervision, of course. But you'd have been free."  
Alana's gaze went back to the wall opposite her, and she slowly shook her head. "What makes you think you can defeat the Dark Lord? Potter couldn't even do it. So much for your precious Chosen One."  
"If you hadn't betrayed him, he wouldn't have failed," Ron said through clenched teeth, his temper rising.  
"I did what I had to do," she said quietly.

Ron banged his hands on the table before Alana, snarling. She didn't move, didn't even bat an eyelash. But she did bring her icy, dead gaze up to meet Ron's flaming glare.

"Damnit, Alana!" he roared. "We wouldn't have handed you over. Harry never would have betrayed you! Why did you sell him out?"

Hermione laid a retraining hand on her husband's arm, though she agreed with everything he said. This wasn't what they had come here for. They couldn't risk offending Alana. They needed her if they were going to kill Voldemort.

But Alana didn't seem offended. She looked back at the wall. "It won't make a bit of difference," she said quietly.

Not answering Ron's heated question. She had never explained herself or her motives to anyone, and she didn't care to begin now.

"Nothing I do will change the past," she continued. "It won't change what I did. You'll both still hate me. I'll still hate myself. It won't bring him- it won't change anything."

Hermione threw a sharp glance at Alana. Her gaze had dropped to her hands, and she seemed to be fighting to not lose control at the phrase that Hermione was sure was meant to have been _It won't bring him back_. Alana stayed in this position for a few moments, but when she looked up she was as controlled as ever.

"All right," she said quietly. "I'll tell you what you want to know, I'll be your agent. I'll do whatever you need."

Hermione sighed in relief, but Alana cut off whatever it was that Hermione had meant to say.

"And when it's over, you will talk to the Minister or the Wizengamot or whoever you need to, and you'll get them to change my punishment. You'll get me the Kiss, and you'll have them euthanize me."  
Hermione nodded. "All right, Alana. If that's what you really want."

It was a small price to pay. Besides, the world would be a better place if Alana Montblanc was given the Dementors' Kiss.

**

* * *

**

Author's Note

: Okay. I realize that Alana being sane after 5 years in Azkaban wouldn't really happen. I know that she would have been driven insane by the constant repetition of her worst memories. My only explanation for her sanity (such as it is) is that she kept herself sane by sheer willpower.

Additionally, I realize that it makes little sense to have a functioning Ministry of Magic and Auror Department if Voldemort is in control of the government. Explanation: it's a secret, rogue government; a warring faction, if you will. Kind of as if the Order of the Phoenix had taken over the government.


	5. Recalled to Life

**Author's Note**: I'll be the first to admit that this is something of a filler chapter; it pretty much just reiterates points that were broached in earlier chapters. But I like this chapter, particularly Hagrid's diagnosis of Harry and Alana's relationship.

**Disclaimer**: Just like I don't own Harry, Ron, or Hermione, I don't own Hagrid and Fang. I just borrow them because Hagrid is really good for commentating on the situation, and Fang is just part of the package when you write a Hagrid scene.

* * *

September 03, 2018

Harry left his office early in the afternoon. He'd been attending to school business with the board of governors all morning. If he didn't get outside soon, he just might go bloody insane.

He didn't even stop to think about where he was going. His feet automatically took him down the path to the groundskeeper's hut. He knocked on the door, folding his arms and looking down, smiling when he heard loud barking.

"Down! _Down_, yeh brute!"

The door swung open to reveal Rubeus Hagrid. His hair and beard were completely gray now, but other than that the enormous man hadn't changed, or showed any signs of getting older.

"Hullo, Harry!" he said cheerfully.  
"Hey, Hagrid," Harry smiled as he walked in, petting Fang on the head.  
"Saw the governors comin' ter see yeh," Hagrid said conversationally. "Figured yeh'd be comin' down here ter unwind after."  
Harry drew a deep breath. "Hagrid… Did you see James when he came on the first?"  
At this, Hagrid ceased preparing tea. He turned to face Harry, sighing. "Aye, I saw 'im. He was in the boat behin' me. Blimey, he looked jus' like yeh, Harry. Brought back some memories, it did."  
A faint smile quirked Harry's lips, but it faded quickly. "He brought me something."  
"Oh? Wha's that?" Hagrid asked, setting a tankard of tea before Harry.

Silently, Harry withdrew the journal from his cloak pocket and held it up. Hagrid took it curiously, flipping through it.

"It's from Alana," Harry said simply.

Hagrid's head jerked up, and he stared at Harry in amazement for a moment before his gaze dropped back to the book in his hands.

"Blimey," he said weakly.  
"She sent that to explain everything," Harry said.  
Hagrid looked up. "Bu' why? Wha' good kin it do now?"\  
Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Hagrid. But… I read that, and no matter how hard I try to be mad at her… all I am is curious. I have to keep reading more, to see what she's going to say next."  
A ghost of a smile grew on Hagrid's face. "It always was th' same story with th' two o' yeh. No matter how mad she made yeh, you still kep' commin' back fer more."

Hagrid's words rang in Harry's ears as he wandered down to the lake.

_You still kep' commin' back fer more…_

A mirthless smile crossed his face. He supposed it was true. When he was younger, his infatuation with Alana had led to his downfall.

And now…

He sat down, his back leaning against the trunk of the tree. Here, in one of Alana's favorite places at Hogwarts… with this piece of her mind and soul in his hands…

Harry didn't know what kind of trouble Alana would land him in this time. But he was powerless to stop it. All he could do was open her journal and be along for the ride.

* * *

April 13, 2013

Alana was awoken the next morning by a guard unlocking her cell door.

"Come with me," he said.

She didn't say a thing; she just followed him through the prison to a back room. The prisoners' personal effects were kept here, on the off chance that they would ever be needed again. Alana was handed a small cardboard crate and was pointed to a curtained-off corner where she could change.

She walked behind the curtain and opened the box, silently steeling herself against the flood of memories she knew the objects would trigger. Inside were a pair of low-rise jeans, a black oxford shirt, high heels, and a black ribbon to tie her hair back with. She changed quickly, noticing for the first time just how much weight she had lost. She looked positively skeletal; the clothes hung off her loosely, threatening to fall off.

There was a small black pouch that Alana was hesitant to open. But open it she did. Inside was a heavy silver locket, on which was embossed the Malfoy family crest. There was a thick silver bracelet, which she quickly snapped on her wrist to cover her black tattoo. The Dark Lord had been shrewd when Alana was branded. Because of the mission he had assigned her, Alana was given not the traditional skull and snake tattoo, but rather an eight-point star, easily covered with bracelets, easily hidden from Harry's eyes.

There were also rings. Three rings that tortured her more than the dementors had ever been able to. One was a four-carat, square-cut pink sapphire, flanked by two two-carat white diamonds on either side, all mounted on a white-gold band- the wedding band the Dark Lord had ordered for her. One was a plain silver band, with the words Drake and Lala engraved inside- the wedding band Draco had gotten for her. The last was a platinum band, on which were mounted three one-carat round-cut diamonds that sparkled brightly, even in the dim light.

Alana stared at the last ring, setting her jaw against the tears she wouldn't allow to fall. She hadn't thought she was able to cry anymore. After a moment, she put the diamond ring in her pocket; she couldn't bring herself to wear it. She put the plain band on her left ring finger, sliding the pink sapphire ring into her pocket to rest with the diamond ring. As she did so, she was inundated by another tidal wave of sadness.

How she missed her husband. He had been her best friend all her life, and now he was gone. He had been killed the night of the ill-fated attack on the Order leaders. She hadn't been allowed to attend his funeral. That had been her one request at her trial, and it had been denied. She would forever hate the secret Minister and the renegade Wizengamot for not letting her be there to say goodbye.

But maybe she should have expected it. She had never been allowed to say goodbye to the people she loved.

The faintest trace of a tiny, mirthless smile flitted across her mouth as she removed her wand from its case. Eleven inches, redwood, with a ground serpant tooth core. She felt the first stirrings of magic flowing through her veins again. The smile was wiped off her face as she continued staring at her wand. If her powers came back in full, what further damage could she inflict on people?

She shook her head to clear her mind of those thoughts. She would worry about her dark powers returning to her later. Right now she was going to focus on getting off of this island.

"Come on," Hermione said as Alana emerged, leading the way to the boat waiting to take them back to the mainland.  
"Where are you taking me?" Alana asked without a trace of interest.  
"To someplace safe," Ron replied shortly.

Alana was silent the entire boat trip. It didn't seem like she was thinking of anything in particular, but the silence that surrounded her was so thick and complete that neither Ron nor Hermione dared to break it.

In truth, Alana _was_ thinking. Freed from the unrelenting depression of Azkaban, Alana took some time to let it sink in that she wasn't forced to constantly relive her darkest memories, that she didn't have to think about them if she didn't want to. Having that measure of control over herself was intoxicating; saying to herself over and over that she was again in control of her mind made it more true with each telling, and oh so slowly the Alana of years past began to re-emerge.

She still didn't speak as the boat docked. She scrambled onto the pier, paying scant attention to the gray skies and gloomy atmosphere. Even though she hoped to be soon released from this burdensome life, for now, if only for now, she was free.

Ron and Hermione hurried Alana into a car. As she settled into the backseat, a hard lump in her pocket pressed against her leg uncomfortably. Frowning, she reached in, and pulled out the diamond ring she'd placed there earlier that morning. Memories flooded to her mind as her gaze focused on the ring. They were bittersweet, but for once not painful.

There was a red-haired boy, brown eyes twinkling in his freckled face, a boy who had grown into the somber, quiet man who drove the car through the English countryside. There was a girl with bushy brown hair and warm chocolate eyes, who had become the tired, burdened woman in the seat opposite her. There was even herself, her black hair shorter and healthier, her body voluptuous, her skin radiant, her jade green eyes, if not happy, at least more animated than they could ever hope to be now.

But mostly, there was a boy. A boy with thick, unruly black hair that didn't quite cover the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, and beautiful, dazzling emerald eyes. A boy that had turned into a confident, charismatic man. A man that she had once loved without meaning to. A man she had betrayed to his death.

Hermione, as well, was staring at the ring Alana held, the ring that Harry had given Alana seven years ago.

"You didn't put it on," she commented, her gaze evaluating Alana's stone-still face.  
Alana didn't look up as she answered. "I don't deserve to wear it anymore. I lost that right years ago."

If Alana had been expecting a sharp, hate-filled remark, she was disappointed. Hermione's gaze filled with the sudden first hints of understanding, and traces of pity. As Hermione caught the faintest glimpses of remorse and self-loathing peering from behind Alana's near-perfect mask, she felt herself softening a bit towards the woman sitting before her.

"Alana," she said softly. "Harry wouldn't want you to be unhappy. He'd want you to wear the ring to remember him by."  
Alana shook her head and replaced the ring in her pocket. "Not yet."

As she turned her gaze to the passing world outside the window, she exercised her famous self-control over her mind.

_Not yet. I'm not ready to remember him yet._

After a half-hour's drive where the car never once went under 120 miles per hour, Ron pulled the over. He twisted around in his seat and looked at his wife.

"Take her inside. I'll get rid of the car."  
Hermione nodded. "Come on," she said to Alana, pushing the door open.

Alana said nothing; she was too busy clenching her jaw and fighting for self-control to formulate an answer. As Number 12 Grimmauld Place appeared before her, Alana squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and prepared herself for what she knew would be a painful deluge of memories.


	6. Trapped

**Author's Note**: I wrote most of this chapter a few years ago, back when I was writing it as a straight, chronological narrative. So some of the prose doesn't exactly work anymore, because you know things about Harry and James that Alana doesn't. But I liked the writing too much to change it.

**Disclaimer**: A statement made to cover one's own ass.

_

* * *

_

It wasn't being in Grimmauld Place that was that bad. Granted, the place was as dark and dreary as it had ever been. I know you always thought the place was a prison, but I didn't mind it. I had been in Azkaban for five years; I was used to prisons. Prisons were safe to me; I was safely contained when in prison walls. I'd learned how to survive prison.

_No, it wasn't being contained, or house arrest, that made returning to Grimmauld Place so horrible for me. What made it so hard was my reaction to everything around me._

_The worst thing about Azkaban wasn't the prison. It was the memories. Thoughts can wound more deeply than anything else. In Azkaban, it's as if all of one's worst memories are wounds that have only just scabbed over. And every time the dementors come, the scabs are ripped off._

_I couldn't stand that, couldn't handle the fact that those wounds were never allowed to heal. It's a miracle that I escaped from Azkaban with my sanity; there were a thousand times when I would wonder why I hadn't given in to despair._

_Grimmauld Place worked in the same way. Every piece of furniture, every decoration held a memory of the life I'd thrown away. Every shaft of sunlight and particle of dust taunted me, reopening scars from another time. And unlike in Azkaban, where I knew what memories to expect, Grimmauld Place never ceased to surprise me with what tidbits from my past it could dredge from the furthest reaches of my memory._

_Ron and Hermione basically kept me under house arrest. I was still too weak, too unhealthy. And they had to be sure that I really was going to cooperate with them._

_I was locked into another prison, one that was somehow worse than the first._

* * *

April 13, 2013

Alana stood in the front hallway silently, holding back a tidal wave of emotions as she was bombarded by memories she thought she had forgotten.

_April 09, 2007_

_"Come on! You can do better than that!"_

_So saying, the nineteen-year-old man ran through the house, nimbly ducking the curses and hexes being thrown at him._

_"Alana Sinclair Montblanc, you really are pathetic at this," Harry laughingly taunted her._  
_"Shut up, Harry James Potter," Alana replied. "The only reason I'm pathetic is because I'm marrying you."_  
_"Hey!" he yelped before running to avoid another of Alana's curses. "Why are we doing this, again?" he asked, peering through the bar window separating the dining room from the kitchen._  
_"You insulted me," Alana replied, lazily flicking a curse through the window._  
_"How?" Harry asked, grunting as he dropped to the ground to avoid the spell._  
_"You said I looked like a vampire," she pouted. "It's not my fault I'm pregnant."_

_Harry, sensing that Alana was done hexing him, came into the kitchen and walked over to her. For a moment, he just looked at her. Her curly black hair hung loose around her shoulders. She wore an oversized blue and orange Quidditch jersey and cutoff denim shorts, and she was barefoot. He smiled to himself; this was a Lady Montblanc that the world never saw. This was simply his Lana._

_"I'm sorry I said you looked like a vampire," he said contritely, kissing her cheek. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well," he continued, kissing her other cheek. "And I'm __**very**__ sorry I pissed you off," he finished, leaning in and capturing her lips._

_When he pulled away, he was treated to Lana's beautiful smile. Her smile turned her into someone else entirely. Forgotten was the distant, aristocratic Pureblood when she smiled; she looked younger, happier. A completely different person._

_"I suppose you're forgiven," she said, pushing him away and padding to the freezer for ice cream. "But next time I will show you what happens when you piss off a Montblanc."_  
_"Yes ma'am," he said obediently._

_He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands resting on her thickening stomach. Right over their child. He smiled to himself; despite the fact that he'd been put on lockdown, he was happy. As long as he had Lana, he didn't mind being isolated from all the world._

"Alana? Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

Alana shook herself free of the memory and suppressed the sadness and depression always evoked by thought of her child.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said dismissively. "Just tired. I'm going to bed."

Without another word, Alana walked off alone, deep in thought. She walked slowly through the rooms, reacquainting herself with the house. She smiled to herself weakly; she had lived in two of the largest, most beautiful halls in the United Kingdom, had spent all her childhood summers in one of the oldest and most lavish mansions in France, but this dark, isolated mausoleum had been her home.

_Why is that?_ she wondered. _Why did I never really feel at home at Asher Hall or the Malfoy Manor, and certainly not at Monticrief Manor, but when I was hidden away here with Harry I never wanted it to end?_

There were photographs framed and displayed everywhere, but Alana ignored them. She didn't want to see those snapshots of memories of happier days.

_Let's see_, Alana thought as she entered a part of the second floor that she didn't remember so well. _This should be the office._

She opened the door and made to go in, but stopped in the doorway.

"All right, definitely not the office," she murmured.

_Come on, Alana. You were the foremost Death Eater of the Dark Lord's inner circle. You can walk into this room._

The room was painted periwinkle blue, with cream trim. A border of dancing animals ringed the walls. A white crib was positioned along one wall, with a rocker next to it.

She bit her lip hard a she stepped into what was supposed to have been her son's nursery. A single tear fell down her cheek as she fingered the stuffed animals that had never been played with, the crib that had never been slept in.

"James," Alana choked out in a half-strangled sob, speaking the name of her son for the first time in years.

She collapsed in silent sobs on the floor. Anguish ripped through her, and for once she didn't stop the tears. She couldn't hold them back, even if she had wanted to; the pain was unbearable, and had to come out.

The memories flooded her mind, memories of her beautiful, perfect James. How she used to hold him in her arms to get him to sleep, how he had loved his baths, how completely and utterly he had changed her, saved her, damned her.

Quick to follow the misery was anger. The Wizengamot had taken both of her children from her. James had been not yet two, Julian only a couple of months old. She had no idea where they were now, who they were calling Mother, if they were even still together.

"My boys," she whimpered. "Oh god, my boys… they're gone, they took my sons from me…"

She crawled into the rocker and closed her eyes, rocking herself into a state of calm.

_It's okay_, she whispered to herself. _Everything's going to be all right. You're going to find them. You'll be a family again._

When she had stopped crying, she wearily stood and left the nursery, walking up to the third floor, second door on the left. She hesitated momentarily, her hand frozen on the doorknob, uncertain if she wished to enter her old room. Harry's old room.

_You are Alana Sinclair Montblanc of Asher Hall, daughter of Lucretia and Hugh Montblanc. You were practically raised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. You were the most powerful woman in the wizarding world. You fear nothing and no one. You can open that door and sleep in that bed._

That little pep talk completed, she raised her head so that her chin was parallel to the floor.

_"Princesses never lower their heads," Camilla, her paternal grandmother, had often told her. "You are a Montblanc, Alana. Your blood is the purest of the pure. Among the Purebloods, you __**are**__ royalty…"_

Her head held high, her posture that of the highest-ranking princess, Alana entered Harry's and her old room.

It was the same as it had always been. The hangings on the bed were the same rich red velvet, the furniture was made of the same dark mahogany. Nothing had changed.

And yet, it was all different. The room was dead now, as dead as its former occupants. For Alana, too, was dead. The woman who stood in the doorway was a completely different person than the girl who had once slept here.

Alana felt the difference keenly as she slowly prepared for bed. She put on a white silk nightdress and combed her ebony locks with her old silver comb, but it was all different. It was as if she were trying on her old skin, her old self, only to find that she no longer fit into that happy and innocent existence.

There had been only one chance to return to this life, and it had died when she betrayed Harry to his death.

Alana lay in the bed and turned to face the empty pillow that once had cushioned Harry's head. Reaching out as if blind, her fingers brushed the pillow.

"You're gone," she whispered. "You're gone, and it's my fault that you're never coming home."

There, in the dark and silent room, Alana wept for the second time that night, for the second time in five years. Wept for the mistakes of her past, wept for the death of the man she hadn't meant to love, wept for her lost life and the fact that she was still here.


	7. I'm Lost to It

**Author's Note**: The moment in Harry's flashback comes out of nowhere. I know there's no build-up to it; that was kind of my point. I'll explain the moment in a roundabout way in later chapters. For now, accept and build.

**Disclaimer**: The song _Only Hope_ doesn't belong to me, no matter how hard I would like it to. It's the brainchild of Switchfoot, and honestly I'm not sure why I think it fits so well for this chapter. Maybe it's more the way the instrumentation sounds like it's sweeping the narrator into something unknown, and that's kinda what happens to the characters in the flashback. In any case, it's not mine, please don't call up the band and tell them to sue me.

* * *

October 31, 2018

Harry sat behind his desk, elbow-deep in paperwork. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes behind his glasses and leaned back in his chair.

"That's enough for now," he muttered.  
"Giving up early, Headmaster?" sneered the portrait of Phineas Nigellus.  
"Let Harry be, Phineas," Dumbledore's portrait chided him. "After the meetings he's had today, he's allowed to take a break."  
"A break so that he can read Alana's journal again?" Nigellus asked. "How important can her diary entries be?"  
"All things are important in love!" came the high, squeaky voice of Armando Dippet.  
"That's enough commentary from the peanut gallery," Harry grumbled.

Grabbing a folder off his desk, Harry retreated to his living quarters. He nearly ripped off his robes, changing into a gray t-shirt and navy sweatpants. Wiggling his bare toes in the scarlet carpet and running a hand through his messy hair, he stood at the west-facing window, looking out at the Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor team had just flown out of the locker rooms for practice. Among their number was a small, first-year Seeker.

Pride swelled in Harry's chest as he watched James fly around the pitch. Only eleven- wait, twelve, his birthday had been on the 12th-, but already so good! Harry laughed and shook his head; James was carrying on a proud family tradition. Wouldn't Alana despair of that… She'd always been afraid of heights. It was good to see that James hadn't inherited his mother's phobia.

A few moments later, Harry turned from the window and sat in his favorite armchair (which he'd… borrowed… from the Gryffindor common room- it had been his favorite chair as a student, too), opening the folder in his lap. Silently, he blessed his position as Headmaster; it allowed him information to any information he wanted. And anything he couldn't get as Headmaster, he could get thanks to his connections at the Ministry.

_Name: James Sirius Malfoy_  
_Birthdate: 12 October, 2007_  
_Parents: Alana Sinclair Montblanc, Draco Lucius Malfoy_  
_Siblings: Julian Draco Malfoy_  
_Residence: Monticrief Manor, Marseille, France_  
_Previous Education: Steno Academy for Boys_

_Schedule_

_MWF_

_9:00-11:00 Potions (with Slytherin)_  
_11:00-12:00 Lunch_  
_12:00-2:00 History of Magic (with Ravenclaw)_  
_2:00-4:00 Herbology (with Hufflepuff)_  
_4:00-6:00 Charms_

_TR_

_9:00-11:00 Transfiguration_  
_11:00-12:00 Lunch_  
_12:00-2:00 Defense Against the Dark Arts (with Slytherin)_  
_2:00-4:00 Magical Theories and Ethics (with Ravenclaw)_  
_11:00-2:00 Astronomy (with Hufflepuff)_

Harry looked through copies of homework and tests, and comments from professors. From all accounts, James was as smart as his mother had been, hardworking, reserved. He saw so much of Alana in their son. She'd obviously raised him as she had been raised, and the result had been the same- James possessed all the good qualities of aristocracy, and very few of the bad.

A twinge of regret twisted Harry's heart. He'd missed all of this. He'd known- or thought he'd known- that separating himself from Alana was not only the right thing to do, but necessary. But he'd had to pay a price, and that price was his son. He'd lost his chance to be a father to James when he cut ties with Alana.

He glanced at the black journal laying on the coffee table. That journal was now his only tie to Alana. He knew perfectly well that he was just as guilty as she, if not more so, for creating the gulf that separated them. And he knew that now that he'd cast Alana aside completely, he'd never be able to repair his relationship with her.

All he could do now was sit there and listen as she wove a tale for him, as she unraveled the painful, complicated truth out of a web of lies.

"All right, Alana, you win," Harry murmured, reaching for the book. "What've you got for me this time?"

_

* * *

_

I wasn't supposed to get pregnant with James. It was one of the things that the Dark Lord had expressly forbidden me to do.

_- Don't tell him any of the truth._  
_- Don't let him suspect you, right up to the end._  
_- Don't get attached._  
_- Don't forget your mission._  
_- Don't get pregnant._  
_- Don't fall in love._

_At first I didn't understand. What could be so bad about getting pregnant? Other than, of course, the child's paternity? Later, it made sense to me. The Dark Lord didn't want you to have an heir, someone to whom your 'secret power' would be passed down. He didn't want a son of Harry Potter to be born, someone who could defeat him, if you did not._

_But, as you can clearly tell, I disobeyed orders. Matter of fact, I broke every one of those orders._

_He told me not to tell you any of the truth… and yet here this journal is._  
_He told me not to let you suspect me… yet I know you did, despite everything I tried to keep you in the dark._  
_He told me not to get attached… but I grew attached to not only you, but to everything and everyone in your world._  
_He told me not to get pregnant. I'd been taught all the contraceptive spells and potions known to wizardkind… but I still wound up with James._

_Why?_

_Because I'd broken the last two of Lord Voldemort's commands. I had let myself forget my mission. And I had fallen in love with you._

_I know you won't believe that statement. I don't blame you. After everything I did to you, how could I claim to love you?_

_But I did, Harry. How or when it happened, I didn't- and still don't- know. But you'd gotten under my skin, had invaded and filled the deepest part of my heart. That love for you started to change me, though at first I didn't have eyes to see it. I started becoming what you thought I was- sweeter, more sincere, happier._

_I found that I was less able- and less willing- to conceal the truth from you. I wanted to share everything with you; even the truth. And as these changes took place, my focus started shifting, until my life was no longer about my mission, but rather about you. I came to the point where I wanted to abandon my mission, come clean, and make a life with you. In anticipation of that, I stopped attending summons from the Dark Lord, and ceased using all magical birth control._

_Then I got pregnant. I was so blissfully happy. For once, I was in complete control of my life. I owed my allegiance to no one; my life was my own._

_After that disastrous battle with the Dark Lord, I was forced to return to my old world. But becoming a mother forever changed me. I can't explain it adequately; the closest I can come is to say that my heart now walked outside my body. Never again could the Dark Lord fully control me; James had my heart more deeply in the world ever had before._

_Granted, having James put me more firmly in the Dark Lord's service. Voldemort knew he could make me do anything, simply by threatening James' safety. But he couldn't directly control me anymore._

_Even after all that happened, after the Ministry more or less banished me to France, I didn't truly mind, because I had James._

Harry looked up, thoughtful. He'd been wondering for two months why Alana had sent James to Hogwarts. She had no more ties to England; why not send him to Beauxbaton?

_Why did I send him to Hogwarts, you ask?_

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head as a faint smile crossed his face. "How do you _do_ that?"

_I told you, you're ridiculously easy to predict, Harry._

_Anyways… There are several reasons. Since James was born in England, he was put on Hogwarts' waiting list the day he was born. And I loved my time at Hogwarts almost as much as you did. I wanted James to experience that. But besides that… Hogwarts is where you are, Harry. And regardless of how you feel about me, James deserves to know who his father truly is, not who the papers have made him out to be. Going to Hogwarts may well be his only chance to do that._

Harry put the book down, lost in thought.

_James deserves to know who his father truly is…_

Harry had missed eleven years of his son's life. If Alana was willing to let him forge a connection with James, he would take that opportunity.

Accordingly, Harry sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. For a moment, he just stared at the blank page, unsure of what to say. Five years had passed since he last saw Alana; how did he reopen the communication between them?

Hesitantly, he started writing, hoping she would understand, somehow knowing deep inside himself that she would.

_Alana-_

_James gave me the journal. So far, it seems to be raising more questions than answers. But I'll keep reading, because if I know you, you'll answer them all. After I've finished it, we can figure out what to do next._

_But for right now, I'm writing to ask your permission for James to spend Christmas with me. Because you're right; James deserves to know who his father is. And I want to know who my- our- son is._

Harry looked at the letter, biting his lip. Should he tell her how his feelings toward her were softening as the journal led him closer to understanding? That thoughts of her now pervaded not only his nights, but his days also?

No. That was a conversation they could only have in person, if at all.

In the end, he merely signed the letter and slid it into an envelope, then walked to Hedwig's cage. His beautiful snowy owl was aging, and usually Harry didn't use her for long trips, instead using his golden eagle owl, Fawkes. But for this very personal letter, it felt right to use Hedwig, who once upon a time had carried letters between Harry and Alana on a frequent basis. Harry handed Hedwig the letter and carried her to the window, which was open to allow the breeze in.

"Take it to Alana, girl," Harry said softly, watching as the owl took off.

When she was gone, Harry got into dress robes quickly, and walked out of his chambers, heading for the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall had, in her time as Headmistress, begun the tradition of a Halloween dance. As Headmaster, he was expected to start the dancing, which he thought was extremely unfair. He'd always hated dancing.

Harry entered the Great Hall, smiling at the students and nodding for the music to begin. As he stepped out to dance with Hermione (who'd come to talk to Professor McGonagall about something), his mind strayed to another Halloween celebration.

* * *

October 31, 2003

Harry sat in a corner table with Ron while Ginny and Hermione were out dancing. For reasons no one knew, Dumbledore had arranged a masked costume dance for tonight. Evil old man.

Ron sat comfortably enough in his bright orange Chudley Cannons Quidditch robes, his red hair hidden under a leather cap and his face covered by large goggles. Harry was garbed in head to toe midnight blue, with silver embroidery, and a silver mask. He was going as the midnight sky, a sight he was growing increasingly familiar with as nightmares and insomnia plagued him.

A mischievous twinkle played in Dumbledore's blue eyes as he stood beside the director's podium. "One last dance before midnight," he announced. "And for it, I will choose your partners for you. For those who appear similar to you may be the ones wearing the most clever masks of all."

With that mysterious little speech, Dumbledore brandished his wand. Immediately, people started moving towards those who wore similar costumes to themselves. Princesses with princes or knights, angels with demons, and so on. Those who had more original costumes were guided to people with related ones, until everyone had a partner.

Harry bowed to his partner, stunned by her costume. Her black hair was curly and hung down her back, silver hair ornaments holding it in check. A diadem of silver and diamonds crowned her head, and was connected to the white and silver mask hiding her face. Her dress was white and silver, clinging to her body perfectly. The fabric flowed and swirled around her, from the folds that fell from the one-shouldered strap to the train that she held up. She was bedecked in silver and diamonds, and her feet were shod in silver sandal heels. With the light reflected by her dress, and the light that glowed within her eyes, she seemed swathed in her own starlight.

Harry, the midnight sky, had been paired with a star.

They took their positions as the music started. The air was filled with the sounds of a piano, cello, and guitar as a Spanish-sounding waltz began playing. The steps seemed embedded in his feet, as if he'd known them all his life and had just been waiting for this moment with the star for them to come out. Everyone started moving as the words wove in with the music.

_So I lay my head back down_  
_And I lift my hands and pray_  
_To be only yours_  
_I pray to be only yours_  
_I know now you're my only hope_

Harry was lost. Lost in the moment, in the music that flowed around him like a spell, in the steps of the dance, in the silver gaze of the star before him. The world around him spun and ceased to exist, so the only things left were he and she, locked together in this dance as if this moment was all they'd been born for.

_Sing to me the song of the stars_  
_Of your galaxy dancing and laughing_  
_And laugh again_  
_When it feels like my dreams are so far_  
_Sing to me of the plans that you had_  
_For me over again_

The world was spinning, or maybe it was just his head. The dance was moving all the couples around the Great Hall, was spinning the sky and the star towards the middle of the room.

And the music kept building to its climax.

They were in the middle of all the others, conscious of nothing but each other. Did they propel the dance? Did the dance propel them? They didn't know, nor did they care.

Her hand was on his shoulder, his on the small of her back. There was barely any space between them as they moved together, hardly needing Dumbledore's spell. They seemed to be one, moving in perfect time to each other, bound by their hands and the music and their eyes.

And all they could do was dance, revolve around each other as everything else orbited around them.

_I know now you're my only hope_

She was his only hope, as was the dance. His whole world, his entire being, had condensed to this one dance, this one moment. He _was_ the dance, and he was lost in it.

They were breathless, lost in each others' eyes as the song ended. Their costumes stopped moving moments after they did, and for a moment they were hidden in a swirling vortex of blue and white and silver.

Harry reached out as if in a dream. She didn't stop him as he slowly, gently, lifted off her mask, as he stared into her eyes which changed color when the mask was gone. He didn't resist as she reached up to strip him of his.

Harry, the midnight sky, stared into the eyes of Alana, the Star, as the rest of the room stared at them. Nothing was said. Nothing could be said. The song had said it all for them.

_I know now you're my only hope_

And they were lost to it.


	8. Everything I Have Lost

**Author's Note**: This chapter contains one of three or four scenes centered around Draco and Alana. Draco hardly appears in this story, which is sad, because he's an incredibly important influence on Alana's life. But for some reason, he just doesn't pop up much in Alana's explanations. I have a very definite view of Draco's character- the _elegant, intelligent, cunning, ambitious, sophisticated, aristocrat_ view- you know, the side that Harry never sees because Harry's a biased narrator. So in the few scenes where he appears, I indulged myself and let him get away with not being very canonical. I apologize for his OOC-ishness, but I hope you enjoy it!

I dedicate this chapter to my dear friend Liz, because she loves Draco just as much, if not more so, than I do. Liz, I hope your head explodes into candy!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Draco Malfoy (JKR refused to sell him to me). I don't even really own this take on him; I was heavily influenced by this incredible story on skyehawke, by Layha Siderea, called _The Readiness Is All_, and I'm furious that it's discontinued, because it's the most fascinating study of Draco's character I think I've ever seen. Not to mention that it melds Draco with Hamlet, and I think that's brilliant.

_

* * *

_

Falling in love with you was quite possibly the best thing that ever happened to me, Harry. I felt like the best possible version of myself around you, and at the same time I wanted to improve myself until I felt I was worthy of the gift you offered me. I haven't felt like that with any person before or since, and that is how I know with such certainty that what I felt for you was real, and true, and completely honest. To have felt it more than once would have cheapened it, and if it was cheap then it wasn't worth having in the first place.

_But loving you, I have to admit, wasn't all sunshine and roses._

_Falling for you complicated everything, threw another set of rules into a life already guided by three codes of conduct- the Dark Lord's, my family's, and my own. Suddenly I was juggling more roles and expectations than I could handle. And- forgive me for saying this, for awakening these memories, but it's true- the worst of these complications turned out to be with Draco._

_Like I said, I'm sorry to bring it up. But I promised to tell you the truth. And the truth is, I loved Draco. He was my first and best friend, and the only one in that other world, besides Blaise and Emily, who took care of me and protected me. Were it not for Draco, I would not have been alive five years ago._

_Draco and I had been bred to be together; he had been bred to be the Keeper of the Wishgiver. Besides the fact that it was the 'request' of the Dark Lord, it was a shrewd political match within the world of the Death Eaters. Our marriage would combine the fortunes of the two richest clans in the Dark Lord's circle, bring immense power to our families._

_Every aspect of my life with Draco had been planned out on the day of our formal betrothal, when we were seven years old. We would be officially engaged when we turned 17, wed and branded after we graduated from Hogwarts. We would live in a mansion in Kent. Draco would work in the Ministry, and as a Governor of Hogwarts, as had his father; I would be a trophy wife._

_Everything was planned. But you… You I didn't count on. I didn't plan on falling in love with you. And in the end, that love is what damned you. I cared too much about you to do my mission, and that is why you were betrayed._

_I know you won't believe this, but I did try to save you. I tried so hard. The thought that I had failed haunted me for years._

_That failure changed me. The knowledge of your death broke my heart. And with my heart broken, my magic hardly worked at all._

_That caused my second failure._

* * *

September 26, 2008

The ring of six Death Eaters prowled the perimeter of the property silently, looking for spells of protection that their enemies might have cast.

Blaise Zabini glanced at his companions. Antonin Dolohov was intent on his job, muttering every counter-spell he knew. Bellatrix Lestrange walked confidently, almost arrogant in her unconcern. Blaise's bride Emily, walked ahead, masking her apprehension under a wall of gravity. Draco Malfoy ran an agitated hand through his hair, keeping a close and watchful eye on his wife, who had given birth only this month, but who had already been put back to work by the Dark Lord. Alana Montblanc Malfoy, the Dark Lord's Star, the leader of this group, stood still, just watching the house that they were to attack.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she asked, so only Blaise, Emily and Draco could hear. "McGonagall taught all of us. And now… it's like we're being sent to kill our own aunt. And Moody and Shacklebolt… I worked with them. I helped them kill Death Eaters. It feels so wrong to kill them."

"The Dark Lord ordered it," Emily said hopelessly. "You know what he says. '_Love is a foolish mortal emotion that will be your downfall_'."

Alana nodded silently. She'd learned that axiom the hard way. She'd loved Harry, and look how that had ended up. No one could afford to feel love, but especially not one like her. Not when the Dark Lord could use her to destroy everything and everyone she had ever loved.

Shaking herself free of her thoughts, she signaled to her companions, and they advanced on the house.

They crossed the lawn silently. Bellatrix had just put her hand on the doorknob-

When a jet of red light streaked out an upper-story window and hit her dead-on. Bellatrix screamed as the Sectusempra spell ripped her chest open.

The next moments were a confusing blur of screams and jets of light. Suddenly, Alana was tackled to the ground, and bound and gagged before she had time to react. She looked up at her captor, then stared into the face of Severus Snape.

He sighed heavily. "Madam Malfoy. I see you were unable to overcome your destiny after all."  
"I tried to," she replied softly. "All that happened was that I betrayed everyone and everything. Now I know better. You can't outrun your fate."

Snape nodded, but Alana saw the disappointment in his eyes. He was just the latest in a long list of people who had been let down by Alana Sinclair Montblanc. She didn't enjoy the knowledge that she had disappointed her former Head of House. But what could she do? Resisting her fate had brought tragedy and calamity down upon her. All she could do was embrace her dark destiny, and pray that her surrender would dull the pain.

As Snape brought her into the living room, a new mask fell over Alana's face to replace her Death Eater mask. It was a more grotesque mask, for it was her own face. It was a mask devoid of all sorrow, all remorse, of any emotion at all. It was the face that had belonged to the girl they called the Princess of Slytherin.

Alastor Moody clunked into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. "They're all dead," he reported grimly. "Cept for Bellatrix, she must've Apparated away, coz we can't find her."

The last bit of emotion in Alana died, and she was glad that no one could hear the sound of her heart breaking and being covered in ice. Blaise… Emily… Draco… She had died with them. She had lost it all.

Or so she thought.

_

* * *

_

When I'd gotten a little healthier, I started bargaining- okay, arguing- with Ron and Hermione about going to the cemetery to sit by Draco's grave.

_I needed the closure. I hadn't been permitted to attend Draco's funeral- something for which I still haven't, and will never, forgiven of the Wizengamot. And, of course, I still hadn't come to terms with your death. I was almost obsessed with the idea of going to the cemetery, to sit quietly with your ghosts and remember._

_Ron and Hermione objected. It wasn't safe, they said; I could be kidnapped, or compromised. Why they really meant was that they didn't trust me not to return to the Dark Lord and my old life. I understood that._

_But that doesn't mean that I obeyed them._

* * *

May 06, 2013

Alana had never been one to lounge around in bed. Even in Azkaban, she had forced herself to get up at a certain time every morning, to adhere to some sort of schedule. The routine had been soothing, and a way to retain some vestige of sanity.

Gently massaging her strained, sore eyes, Alana got up and walked into the bathroom for a quick, cool shower. She walked into her room and pulled on the first things she grabbed out of the armoire- some ratty old jeans and a band t-shirt of Harry's. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and gave a sad, tired excuse for a laugh; who knew that she, Lady Montblanc, could- or would- look so sloppy? She hadn't looked like this since she was pregnant with James…

She winced at the thought and sighed. Much though she didn't want to be reminded of her past, of the life that had been a lie, of the man she had betrayed and the sons who had been taken from her, this house was full to the brim with those memories and reminders. She was forced to remember, and sometimes the good memories were more painful than the bad.

"This place is worse than the dementors," Alana muttered.

In an attempt to hold the memories at bay for a time, she walked down into the kitchen, where Ron and Hermione were eating breakfast.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, sitting at the table.  
Ron glanced at Alana darkly, but shrugged and said, "It's your house."  
"What?" Alana asked, startled.  
Hermione sighed. "In his will, Harry left the house and everything in it to you and James."  
"But… I thought that he gave the house to the Order when he inherited it?" Alana asked, looking at Hermione questioningly.  
"Well, he did," Hermione admitted. "But Dumbledore refused to take ownership from Harry. We still meet here, but we don't own the house. You do."

So much for hiding from the memories.

Despite the pain, Alana was unexpectedly grateful to Harry. This house had been her true home, and though she doubted she would be able to stay here, she was comforted that she had the option.

Alana sighed, knowing now that there was one place she needed to visit. Even though she really didn't want to disturb those memories, wasn't sure if she was strong enough to face those reminders.

"I know that face," Ron said. "Whatever it is, Alana, the answer is no. Just no."  
"Nice," Alana muttered, rolling her eyes. "I just want to visit the cemetery for an hour, Ron."  
Ron shook his head. "We can't let you out, Alana. It's not safe."  
Alana's eyes narrowed. "Not even to visit my husband's grave?"  
"Sorry, no," he shrugged.

Alana muttered to herself as she walked away. She'd never meekly taken orders from anyone. And she didn't intend to start now.

"Sorry, Ron," she muttered. "I won't be gone long."

With that, the stubborn woman Disapparated.

She stopped a moment to pluck a single white rose that grew beside the gate to the cemetery. Then she drew a deep breath and pushed open the gate of Summerland Cemetery. She walked between the rows, not sure where the headstone was, until she was stopped by a plump, kind-looking witch.

"Can I help you, dear?" she asked.  
"Draco Malfoy's grave, please," Alana requested.

The witch's face blanched as the name of the infamous Death Eater left Alana's lips, but she pointed out the headstone before scuttling off as quickly as she could waddle. Alana shook her head and walked slowly towards the grave. She stood before it for a moment, just looking at it. It was a simple headstone of black marble. Elegant, simple, no fuss- just as he had been. Bracing herself against the tears, she looked at the words carved into the stones.

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_  
_June 5, 1988- September 26, 2008_  
_Son of Lucius and Narcissa_  
_Husband of Alana_  
_Father of James and Julian_  
_Friend of many, missed much_

Alana lowered herself to her knees and fingered the lettering on the headstone. She bowed her head, looking at the grass under which her husband was buried.

"Hey Drake," she whispered. "It's Lala. I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to get here. They… they wouldn't let me come."

Tears filled her eyes as she knelt there, tears which she impatiently wiped away. She had been left to remain here alone. Her husband and her best friend had been taken from her, and she'd never gotten to say goodbye.

"They tried to so hard to keep us apart, after you died," she said, cursing herself for being so emotionally weak as to cry once again. "Just like the Death Eaters did when you were alive. It's strange, isn't it? They wanted us to be married, but they didn't want us to fall in love. They didn't want us to get involved, in case it screwed up our damned missions."

Alana closed her eyes, allowing memories of her handsome, elegant husband to dominate her mind.

* * *

July 30, 2004

It was almost midnight, but the party at Monticrief Manor showed no signs of slowing down. Indeed, it had yet to truly begin. The festivities would really start at midnight, when Lucius Malfoy and Hugh Montblanc would announce the formal engagement of their sixteen-year-old children, and the plan to wed them when they graduated Hogwarts.

It was considered ironically hilarious that these paragons of the Death Eater world would be engaged on the birthday of their greatest nemesis. Especially when one considered what the Dark Lord had ordered the bride-to-be to do concerning Harry Potter.

It was a momentous occasion, the union of the two scions of the most powerful families of Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's army. The Malfoys were infamous for being among the most dark witches and wizards in the world- their library of all topics of dark magic was legendary. The Sinclair-Montblanc clan was the financial backbone for the entire Death Eater organization. The union of Draco and Alana would bring the two families even more power and influence.

But the two guests of honor were currently missing.

Alana stood on the balcony of the large ballroom on the third floor, directly above the dining room where the guests were gathered. She had been surrounded by people all day long; she needed a few moments alone to process what was happening. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool night air, attempting to think of nothing at all.

Draco walked with a languid grace across the floor of the ballroom, his eyes on his future bride. Her black hair had been pulled back in a half-ponytail, her curls tied back with a green ribbon. She was garbed in a slinky floor-length gown of black and Slytherin green, colors which perfectly set off her pale skin and catlike jade eyes. He had been watching her all night- she had never looked so beautiful.

The impending marriage was difficult for Draco to understand and deal with. Not because the idea of marrying Alana was repugnant to him; rather because he found he wanted it. Needed it, even. He had grown incredibly attached to her, and that was very, very dangerous.

He knew he should remain reserved, that they should continue their skillful charade of being the Prince and Princess of Slytherin- absolute partners, but absolutely nothing between them other than a calculated alliance. But he found that the more time went on, the more difficult it became for him to continue the act. In fact, Draco had found that he was very close to losing control of his emotions when it came to her, and for a Death Eater and a Malfoy that simply would not do.

Girls had always been a commodity to Draco, almost on a par with any of his other possessions. Easily had, easily discarded. But he could never think of Alana as a possession; she had become, in the sixteen years he'd known her, his greatest treasure. So though he didn't understand why he needed her so, couldn't afford to let the world see how he truly felt about her, there was no way in hell that he would let her slip away.

"They're looking for you, you know."

Alana whirled around as Draco's voice broke the stillness, though she relaxed when she saw who it was.

"It's almost midnight, Lala," he continued as he walked towards her. "Almost show time."  
Alana nodded. "I'll go inside in a minute, Drake," she replied.

The use of their childhood nicknames was comforting to the both of them. It allowed them to momentarily forget who their parents wanted them to be, to remove the burden of being "the rising stars of the next generation" from their shoulders. They could pretend, if only for a moment, that they were only children again, innocent and carefree. No longer Master Malfoy and Lady Montblanc; just Drake and Lala.

For a moment, they just stood there shoulder to shoulder, their forearms resting on the banister, as they looked out over the magnificent gardens for which Monticrief Manor (home of Alana's grandmother Camilla) was famous.

"Do you ever wish our lives were different?" Alana asked softly. "That we hadn't been born into our families, that we were free to choose our own paths?"  
"Sometimes," Draco nodded. "But…" He looked down at his hands, fumbling for words to express the sentiments he'd been taught not to feel. "But I'd still marry you."

Alana looked up at him, feeling as if she was standing on a high precipice. One more word from Draco would send her tumbling into a dark and dangerous abyss, but she found she didn't want him to stop.

They looked at each other, unable to break the gaze. Slowly, hesitantly, he placed his lips on hers, sealing the contract and the bond between them far more powerfully than anything the Dark Lord could cook up.

For this moment, it didn't matter that they were pawns, being used by a psychotic master to achieve a diabolical goal. The war, the Death Eater society into which they'd been born and of which they were the direct heirs, rules and regulations… it all went away, and none of it mattered. In that moment, it was enough for them to simply be in love. And they embraced that moment wholeheartedly, with no thought of anything else.

* * *

Alana opened her eyes, sighing. She missed Draco. She'd never gotten to say goodbye. But perhaps she should have expected it; she had never been able to say goodbye to the ones she loved.

_The ones she loved…_

Alana sighed again as her thoughts turned to the other man she had loved and lost. The man she couldn't leave in her past, but rather carried with her through to the present.

She sat there silently, surrounded by isolation, memories, and the ghosts of the two lives, the two pieces of herself, that were gone forever.


	9. Contradict and Complement

**Author's Note**: Theoretically, Harry shouldn't know anything about the flashback dated September 01, 2004. I realize that. But I wanted to put that scene in there. It was inspired by a story I read once upon a really long time ago on quizilla (unfortunately I don't remember the title or author).

Also, I adore the scene between Pansy and Alana. I wish I could've done more with that relationship, because it was so much fun to write.

Finally, I realize that JKR never mentioned anything about Hogwarts students hunting and torturing Muggle-born students. I added that, but it seemed in character for the characters who are doing it. Plus, I wanted to give Alana a chance to be the good guy, for once.

**Disclaimer**: No copywrite infringement or plagiarism is intended with the Sept. 01, 2004 flashback. Please don't track down the author of that quizilla story and have her Avada Kedavra me.

* * *

November 17, 2018

He wasn't sure why he'd suddenly awoken at dawn, but Harry found himself completely unable to go back to sleep. Giving it up as a lost cause, he got up, showered, and dressed.

He was going to go down to the kitchens for breakfast when a trunk caught his eye. It was made of strong yew, with brass hinges and trim. Emblazoned on the lid, he knew, was the Slytherin crest. Harry looked at the chest, which was ducked into an alcove under one of his many bookcases, biting his lip. It was insanely early in the morning to open that can of worms…

But something was drawing him to it. He sighed, defeated, and used his wand to bring the trunk into the middle of the room. Might as well face the memories now, rather than be plagued by them all day.

After Alana had been sent to Azkaban, this trunk had arrived in Minerva McGongall's office. The Headmistress had never opened it, and Harry had inherited it upon his appointment as Headmaster.

Tucked into the trunk were school robes, old textbooks with copious notes and caustic commentary written in the margins, Unmentionable robes, packets of pictures, notes and letters that he and Alana had sent each other during their Ministry days. A million memories were connected with every artifact of this previous life, a thousand images of Alana that contradicted and complemented each other.

He reached into the trunk and pulled out a green and silver tie, the tie that had once marked Alana as a Slytherin. He closed his hand around it, smiling bitterly. What the tie didn't signify was her rank within the close-knit, secretive world of Slytherin House. Her family name had quickly elevated her to a position of honor within the House, not unsimilar to Draco Malfoy's rise to power. As the years rolled on and Voldemort became more and more powerful, stories of the deeds of the Sinclair and Montblanc families became infamous, and Alana's status grew until she was feared nearly as much as the Dark Lord himself. The students of Hogwarts had fashioned for her a new identity- the Princess of Slytherin.

* * *

September 01, 2004

The start-of-year feast had just gotten underway when the huge double doors opened, and a single figure glided in.

The seventeen-year-old girl's raven black hair was pulled into a demure ponytail at the nape of her neck, tied with a green satin ribbon. Her chin was parallel to the ground, her back as straight and unbowed as any princess', her jade green eyes sparkling in confidence and challenge.

She walked at a steady, even pace, completely unconcerned by the hundreds of eyes feasting on her. She headed towards the chair that had been reserved for her in the middle of the Slytherin table. A place of honor, where the ruler of the House could survey her subjects.

She had no need to hurry to her seat. It had become tradition in her first year to signal her fellow Slytherins to begin eating. Their meal wouldn't begin until she was seated.

Alana looked perfectly composed as she took her seat and nodded once, allowing her housemates' meal to begin. But it took all of her training to appear impassive as her eyes alighted upon the empty chair opposite her. Draco's chair.

Pansy Parkinson was in her customary seat, to the right of Draco's chair. The two girls stared each other down in nearly open hostility. Pansy had always tried to rub it in Alana's face that she was Draco's acknowledged girlfriend, the one to whom he always returned, no matter how many dalliances he indulged in. But it was Alana who wore Draco's ring, it was Alana who was and always had been Draco's equal partner in ruling their House, and it was Alana who both girls knew was the only one who could truly hold Draco's interest, and his heart. Pansy had only been a cover, a distraction to keep attention off of Draco's love for Alana, and all three had known it.

Alana held her gaze steady as she considered Pansy, but she made sure that the pugfaced pretender noticed when she began playing with her engagement ring, rubbing it into Pansy's ugly face that it would be Alana, not Pansy, who bore the name of Malfoy when the year was over. It was a reminder, as powerful as it was subtle, that it had always been Alana who would marry Draco. Alana and Draco had been bred for each other, after all; Pansy had never stood a chance, however much she wanted him. Pansy's glare darkened, but there was absolutely no way that she could attack Alana either physically or verbally- either Alana would outduel or outwit her in two seconds, or the entourage that fawned around Alana would take her down- and she knew it. So all she could do was remain silently angry.

Alana nodded once in recognition of Pansy's silent capitulation, then leaned back in her chair, only picking at her food as she gazed out over the hall, her mind wandering.

She and Draco had been formally engaged that past summer. It hadn't come as a surprise to anyone (save possibly the Parkinson family); they'd been betrothed since the age of seven. Their parents considered it a joining of money; the Dark Lord, a joining of power that he had engineered long before they were born. Draco and Alana saw those as convenient covers for their reason to marry- the fact that they loved each other.

Alana sighed quietly. She hadn't heard a word from Draco, with the exception of the night of their engagement, since May, when he and Snape had disappeared into the night. It had been hard for her. For seventeen years, Draco had been her best friend, the only one who could see into those parts of herself that she hid so well. Over time, he had grown into her partner, her protector, her lover. Now she didn't have a clue whether or not he was even alive, let alone safe.

Blaise Zabini looked up from his plate to see how unusually pale Alana was, how tired her eyes looked, how unhappy she seemed. When he caught her eye, he gave her a reassuring smile. He was still there for her, watching out for her, as he had promised Draco he would do. Draco had written to Blaise the night after he fled Hogwarts, practically begging Blaise to keep Alana safe from all harm until Draco could come back to take her away. Blaise had promised to guard her with his life, and he would do so.

Alana gave him a small smile before turning to chat with Blaise's girlfriend Emily, pulling herself together and putting on her game face. The distant, confident face that the world knew so well. The face of a daughter of one of the oldest and most aristocratic Pureblood families in the world. The face of a princess of steel and ice. The emotionless mask that the world thought was Alana Montblanc.

The face of the Princess of Slytherin.

* * *

Harry sighed, sitting on the ground. Yes, Alana had been an ice princess. But he'd seen another side to her the very first time they spoke…

* * *

November 21, 2001

Hermione Granger ran through the halls of Hogwarts, frantically trying to escape the trio of Slytherins pursuing her. This was the one part of her experience at Hogwarts that she and her two best friends never discussed- the Mudblood hunting.

Adrian Flint, a seventh year, his brother Marcus, a fourth year, and Draco Malfoy, a third year like she, were the hunters today. Even though she was abnormally intelligent and talented for her age, there was no way Hermione could fend off three attackers at once.

Suddenly, a hand shot out from a dark side hallway and pulled Hermione. Another hand covered her mouth to stifle her yelp. Hermione turned to find herself face-to-face with none other than the one who Ron had pointed out to her as Lady Alana Montblanc.

"Stay here. Be quiet," Alana hissed before stepping out to meet her housemates. "Evening, gentlemen. What's afoot?"  
"Hello, Princess," Adrian greeted her, smiling on her lasciviously, to Draco's disgust. "We're hunting that Mudblood bitch Granger. Care to join us?"  
A small, emotionless smile flitted across Alana's face. "Ah. Makes sense now- she ran through here a while ago. Headed toward the library, I think."  
"Thanks, Princess," Adrian said. "Sure you don't want to come?"  
"No, I'm on my way to speak with Professor Snape about my Potions homework," Alana lied smoothly. "I'll see you later, boys."

When they were gone, Alana turned to see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley running towards Hermione. When they saw Alana, they whipped out their wands and trained them on her.

"What do you want, Montblanc?" Ron snarled. "Come to go Mudblood hunting?"  
Alana indulged in an eye roll, but made no move to reach for her wand. "I love how you automatically assume that I'm hunting Granger, Weasley, even though no one in this school has ever caught me putting down any of the Muggle-borns. But I have no intention of explaining myself to you. You won't step out of your bias to listen, so I won't waste my breath."

She turned on her heel and started walking away, only to be stopped by Hermione calling her name. Alana turned, but didn't return to the Trio.

"Thank you," Hermione said simply.  
"Wait," Harry said, confused. "_You_ saved Hermione just now? Why?"  
"Because I don't condone Slytherins putting others down," Alana replied evenly. "Our House wasn't set up to foster elitist blood fanatics who justify murder and barbarism."  
"Why are you in Slytherin?" Harry asked, nonplussed. "No Slytherin ever cared for anyone but themselves. You should be in Ravenclaw, Gryffindor maybe."  
A mirthless smile quirked her lips. "How much do you know of the wizarding world, Potter?"  
"I know enough," he replied defensively.  
"How much do you know of my family, then?" Alana asked. "Ask Weasley. He could tell you all the stories of what my family's done. Ask Granger to tell you all the varieties of Dark witches and wizards my family has bred. Then you'll understand why I can't be anywhere other than Slytherin, and why I can't change what's already been done."

She turned on her heel and walked away again. Harry shook his head and called out.

"Just because your family's Dark doesn't mean you have to be. Their choices don't have to be yours."

Alana paused, but didn't turn. For a moment she just stood there silently, before she sighed.

"Yes they do," she said softly, before walking away.

Harry shook his head as he came out of his memories. He'd come to know her incredibly well in the years following that conversation… But in the end, she'd just become more of a mystery than she had been when they met.


	10. Nothing Left to Do

**Author's Note**: I didn't keep Ginny out of the story because I hate her. …Wait, that's a lie. Me no likey Ginny (despite the fact that I'm 8/10ths a Draco fan), therefore she no appeary in this story, except in the occasional flashback. Sorry if you're a Ginny fan.

**Disclaimer**: Didn't happen, don't own, don't sue.

* * *

December 01, 2018

Harry rolled over in his infinitely warm and comfortable bed, blinking sleepily in the bright but weak winter sunshine. He let out a lazy sigh; he'd be perfectly happy if he could stay in bed all day. He hadn't done that since Ginny…

He winced, the memory unexpectedly painful. Ginny had been murdered by a Death Eater three years ago; a revenge killing. He'd tracked down the Death Eater- Adrian Flint- and made sure he got the Dementor's Kiss. But it hadn't served to ease the pain of losing his wife.

And he'd thought he couldn't experience anything more painful than the horrors he'd faced as the Chosen One…

He swallowed a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him as a tapping sounded at the window. He turned to see Hedwig perched on the sill, a roll of parchment in her beak. He smiled weakly as he opened the window and Hedwig dropped the letter into his hand. He broke the wax seal and unrolled the paper, reading the familiar script.

_Harry-_

_"Figure out what to do next"? You know as well as I do that there is no 'next' for us, Harry. What existed between us was destroyed years ago. Our paths have split; and it's not just our own sentiments ensuring our separation. The Minister made it perfectly clear that I wasn't welcome in England, and you, Ron and Hermione made it clear that our lives were mutually exclusive. What we had- if, indeed, we ever had anything truthful at all- is too broken to be fixed._

_But I do want you to have a relationship with James. I want you to know the amazing person that is our son. So yes, you have my blessing to take him for Christmas. I think it'll do you both good._

_-Alana_

Harry raised his eyebrows at this letter, which was so unlike her. Alana Montblanc, being emotional in a letter? Revealing anything about what she was thinking? Unfathomable.

He read through the letter again, furrowing his brow. She sounded so… sad, and regretful; so remorseful of how things had played out. She sounded like a completely different person, and Harry found that the change disturbed him. He'd always thought that nothing could shake her; he didn't like the idea of Alana being weak.

He sat down as his mind went back to the memory of Alana that had always haunted him.

* * *

January 13, 2007

Nineteen-year-old Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched, yawning. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily, then stood to make himself a fresh pot of coffee.

As he waited for the precious brew, he leaned back in his chair, sighing. He'd been working on this case for weeks now, obsessively trying to track down the Death Eaters responsible for the massacre of 50 muggles. It should have been easy, a routine case. But the Death Eaters had been very clever in making it look like an accident. There was almost no evidence to trace back to anyone.

Harry gnawed on the inner wall of his cheek, considering. Maybe he could ask Alana for help… The Auror and the Unmentionable had paired up for many cases over the past two years, and their partnership always solved the case. Perhaps she would have the resources he needed.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden presence of Alana herself. Harry smiled in pleasure, but that quickly faded into alarm as he got a good look at her. Her hair was disheveled and tumbled around her face. She was flushed, angry tears pouring out of her eyes. She seemed furious, but also terrified.

"Alana?" he asked cautiously.  
"Can we run away?" she burst out through the tears. "Just… get up and leave, and run till we leave it all behind?"  
Harry stood and walked over to her. "Lana, what happened?" he asked, pulling her into his arms.

At that, Alana broke down fully. She clung to him, burying her head in his shoulder as great, wrenching sobs threatened to rip her apart.

"M-My father found me," she said.

Harry closed his eyes against the fear that stirred in his heart. After her graduation from Hogwarts, Alana had had a huge falling-out with her parents. She had never told him the details, but as a result she had been disowned by her father. Alana had left her home in Kent and moved to London, where she entered the Ministry at the same time as Harry, Ron and Hermione. After she'd proved her worth and loyalty, she had become one of the Department of Mysteries' greatest assets.

"What did he want?" Harry asked.  
"He told me that I still belonged to the Dark Lord, that I would do my duty and be glad of it," Alana said.  
"Or he'd do what?"  
She sniffed. "Or he would put me under the Imperious Curse and do it for me."

Harry had no doubt that Alana's father had meant what he said. Hugh Montblanc was known to be as ruthless as he was conscienceless. If he'd threatened Alana, Harry knew she was in real danger.

He nodded. "Okay. It's not safe for you to stay in your flat anymore."  
"Then where do I go?" Alana asked, wiping her eyes.  
He hesitated only a moment before making his decision. "You'll come and live with me. Grimmauld Place is the safest house in the UK, barring Hogwarts. He won't be able to find you there."

Alana nodded, sighing in relief. Harry bit the inner corner of his lip as he glanced at the woman he'd been secretly dating for almost a year.

"Lana, why does Voldemort want you so much?" he asked.  
"Because he thinks that if he had a Wishgiver, he could wish for the way to destroy you," Alana replied in a low voice.  
Harry tried to stifle the fear growing in his chest. "And… could he?"  
"No," Alana said. "The only person who can irrevocably get exactly what they want every time is the one who has the Wishgiver's heart. And that's you, Harry."  
Harry smiled, resting his chin on Alana's head. "But if that's true, then why do you want to run? The Alana Montblanc I know would never back down from a challenge."  
"The Alana Montblanc you know would also never admit when she's afraid," she said softly. "But I… I'm terrified, Harry. I'm afraid of what's happening. I'm afraid of what I see coming. I'm afraid of what we may be forced to do."

Harry held Alana close, shocked. He had never seen her this unguarded, this uncomposed. After all these years, he was finally seeing the real Alana. And in her he saw someone more like him than he had ever realized.

* * *

Harry shook his head to clear the memory, smiling bitterly. She'd been a damned good actress; she'd had him completely fooled. He had believed all the lies she'd spoon-fed him, and it was that blind faith in her that had led to his downfall.

He stood quickly, scowling at the black leather-bound journal that lay on the mantle. He was in no mood to read it, to hear Alana attempt to explain herself. There could be no explanation. He had loved her, and she had betrayed him. End of story. Everything she had ever said to him had been a lie, carefully crafted to earn his trust and to blind him to what she had truly been up to.

And he had fallen for it, hook line and sinker.

He grabbed his broom, desperate to get away from her memory for a while. He ran out to his balcony, and threw himself into midair without another thought. For a moment, he just fell through the air, enjoying the freefall. Then he got on his broom and soared off, flying wherever his fancy took him. He refused to think; he just flew.

Hours- and a trip to Diagon Alley to visit George- later, he touched back down on his balcony, relieved to find that he had left his anger and bitterness behind him, leaving only resolve. He crossed to his desk and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, then sat to answer Alana's letter.

_Alana-_

_What's past is past. We can't change what happened, but it doesn't have to define who we are. I'd like for us to be able to have some sort of amiable relationship, for James' sake. And besides that… a long time ago, had things been different, we could have been friends. True friends. We deserve that much, I think._

_-Harry_


	11. This Convoluted Puzzle

**Author's Note**: Some might say that what happens at the end of this chapter is unmotivated and out of character. I would reply, "thank you for noticing," and "that's the bloody point." Please notice, everything between Harry and Alana has been spontaneous, unmotivated, out of character, and thus confusing and hard to define. I had a reason for that, which I hope you've picked up on.

**Disclaimer**: If you're going to emulate Harry and Alana at the end of this chapter, please use appropriate birth control. This chapter is not a PSA for unprotected sex.

**Shout-outs and Story Promotions**: Huge shout-out, squeals, and hugs to my beloved fellow Saint, Sara, aka'd here on ffn as AshtrayHeart86. Also, if you're a fan of _The Chronicles of Riddick_, I have an incredible (and incredibly disturbing) story for you, also on ffn- _Persephone and Hades_, by Kali-Red. It's one of the most fascinating and well-written stories I've ever had the pleasure (and occasionally, pain) of reading.

* * *

December 20, 2018

Harry and James stood on Grimmauld Place, luggage in hand, ready to begin their Christmas holiday. James looked up at the buildings, brow furrowed. Number 8… 10… 14…

"Where's Number 12?" he asked.

Harry smiled at his son's confusion. He had considered merely using the Floo network to transport them, but thought James would appreciate using the front entrance more.

"Read this," he said, handing James an old, faded piece of paper.

James opened it to find a sentence written in a narrow, slanted, loopy handwriting. The ink had faded nearly to invisibility.

_The location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is Number 12, Grimmauld Place._

Suddenly, Number 12 grew from between the sides of Numbers 10 and 14. James' head snapped up as he watched, and a fascinated smile grew on his face.

"Cool," he grinned.

Harry smiled and led his son into the house, turning on the lights.

Grimmauld Place had once been dark, grim, and sinister. But no more. When Alana had been here five years ago, she had repainted and redecorated everything. The walls were warm, earthy shades of rusty red and brown. The house elf heads and the portrait of Mrs. Black were long gone, and had been replaced with photos of friends and family. Somehow, Alana had taken a dungeon and made it into a home.

"Let's get you settled in," Harry said, leading James upstairs.

He opened a door on the second floor, bracing himself against the memories that still had the power to ache, if not to wound all over. The baby furniture was gone, now, donated to his friends as they'd needed it. Though the walls were still blue, the dancing animal border was gone. As James walked into the room that should have been his nursery, Harry's throat constricted to see the boy his baby had grown into. Remorse washed over him again at the thought of all he'd missed.

"Are you hungry?" he asked to break the silence.  
"Not really," James said.  
Harry nodded. "Then I'll leave you to unpack. You can wander around anywhere you like. If you need me, I'll be in my office on the first floor."

Harry turned and left, heading downstairs. He made a detour in the kitchen to get a butterbeer and a sandwich, then cloistered himself in his office. It wasn't the largest space, but Harry loved it. One corner was devoted to music both Muggle and magical, and held the acoustic guitar he'd taught himself to play. One wall was packed with shelves of books. The other walls were covered with posters and pictures.

Here, surrounded, comforted, and protected in this very personal space, Harry felt safe in dwelling on one of the most painful parts of himself- the part of his heart that still, despite everything, belonged to Alana.

_

* * *

_

I know you think everything I ever said to you was a lie. And, honestly, it was. That had been my job, after all; tell whatever lie was necessary to get you to trust me. And lie I did, exactly as I was ordered to.

_Don't read that statement as me shrugging off blame for what was done to you. I fully accept responsibility for lying to you, for luring you to your death. You're right to blame me, to be furious at me._

_But if you're going to be upset, you have to understand every piece of the convoluted puzzle. Which I suppose means I have to bore you with history and politics before I can begin to explain what was done to you._

_A Wishgiver, or Star as they're usually called, is nothing more than a matter of genetic probability. If on the mother's side there was a blood-related Intuitive witch within four generations, and on the father's side there was a strong-willed Creator witch or wizard within three generations, the first daughter of those parents who has a strong enough spirit will be a Star._

_The Dark Lord, having somehow learned this science lesson while at Hogwarts, obsessively combed through the family tree of each and every one of his followers. It was how he discovered many of the genetic talents of his most prized Death Eaters, how he built up such a strong army. But he never found what he was looking for, until his attention was drawn to Lucretia Montgumery Sinclair and Hugh Charles Montblanc._

_At last, Voldemort had the genetic material he needed. He ordered my parents to wed for one reason- to breed me. My mother miscarried twice in the Dark Lord's quest for a Wishgiver, but finally he was rewarded for his patience with my birth._

_The Dark Lord immediately put me under his personal protection. My family was rewarded for the service they had rendered by being counted among his closest and most trusted servants, and were ordered to raise me as befit a princess until the time came to play my part in the great drama Voldemort had written._

_At the same time, Voldemort knew I would need a Keeper, someone to act as a friend and protector. To breed this guardian, the Dark Lord chose Narcissa Dione Black and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, promising them riches and power for eternity if they produced the needed boy._

_Draco and I were born only two months apart, and from the moment our eyes opened we were being groomed for the roles we would someday play._

_The moment Voldemort was told of the presence of the Prophecy, he began to plan your demise. After his ill-fated attempt to kill you in Godric's Hollow, he disappeared, but those who had been in his closest confidence carried out his well-made plans, plans that were set into motion the day we arrived at Hogwarts._

Harry lowered the book, his eyes unfocusing as his mind drifted back in time.

* * *

September 01, 1999

Eleven-year-old Alana Montblanc stood with her best friends, Blaise Zabini, Emily Hawthorne, and Draco Malfoy, watching the Sorting. Even at this young age, Alana showed a marked poise and detachment from her peers. Her jade eyes scanned over the others gathered with her, but they didn't seek out potential friends; they just observed impassively. Only Draco could sense her excitement and unease.

"Not worried, are you, Alana?" Emily grinned.  
"Of course not," Alana replied staunchly. "Why should I be?"

Pretty, bubbly, sassy Emily tossed her friend a grin before she was called up to be Sorted (into Slytherin, as it turned out). As she left, Draco glanced at Alana, serious and nearly caring.

"You know we'll always be friends, right?" he asked.  
Though the unfamiliar tone in his voice startled her, Alana quickly found a smile. "I know. Unless of course I'm Sorted into Hufflepuff, and then you'll deny ever meeting me."  
"Please," Draco scoffed. "We'll be Sorted to Slytherin together, Lala. Just wait and see."

Alana glanced at Draco then. Lala was the nickname he'd given her at the age of three, when he'd been unable to pronounce 'Alana'. Usually he called her Lala when he was annoyed, but sometimes, like now, he used it when he was being serious and encouraging (a rare event for him these days).

Draco grinned at her when his name was called for the Sorting. Alana had to smile when the Hat screamed "SLYTHERIN!" before it had even touched his head.

"Montblanc, Alana," Professor McGonagall called.

Taking a deep breath, Alana lifted her head so that her chin was parallel to the floor. She strode ahead confidently, unknowingly drawing the eye of many a student and professor, all of whom were amazed by her self-possession. Alana seated herself on the stool, schooling her face to calm as she faced the entire student body, her glittering eyes challenging them all before the Hat was lowered onto her head.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. A very good mind, introverted… oh, you'd do well in Ravenclaw."

Alana closed her eyes in something like fear. She didn't want to think about what her father would do if she was Sorted anywhere but Slytherin. The Montblancs- in fact, every member of both sides of her family- had for generations been in Slytherin or Ophidian, the Slytherins' sister House in Crenova Academy, in France.

"Ah, of course, the family history," the Hat mused. "Some very dark, very powerful witches and wizards in your family. And you, possibly the greatest of them all."

_Please just make your decision_, Alana begged.

"Oh, very well," the Hat grumbled. "SLYTHERIN!"

_

* * *

_

It quickly became apparent that as long as I was associated with Slytherin- and Draco- there was no possible way that I could wom myself into your life. So instead of punishing me, the Dark Lord began creating a new plan for me, telling me nothing but to be sure you knew I existed, and knew who I was.

Harry looked up thoughtfully, memories of his school days floating lazily through his head.

He'd always noticed her. He'd never had a crush on her, not really; not like he had with Cho and Ginny. He'd watched her because she was a puzzle, a mystery that he didn't know how to solve.

He'd paid more attention to her after that first encounter in their third year. Ron and Hermione had told him all about her family and the things they had done. Harry should have been repulsed that this distant, reserved princess was the heiress of such a dark and evil legacy. Instead, he was just all the more fascinated. She was the undisputed ruler of Slytherin House, the daughter of one of the most powerful clans in the wizarding underworld… how was she so… not evil?

His fascination grew exponentially after Halloween 2003. The emotions he'd felt while dancing with her had come out of nowhere, but he knew she'd felt them too. After that night, his feelings toward her had changed. He no longer saw her as the untouchable Wishgiver, Lady Alana Montblanc, the Princess of Slytherin; he was coming to see here merely as Alana, a girl who was frantically trying to balance too many roles and expectations.

Harry sighed. Could his attraction to her really have blinded him that badly?

_Next up in the list of Statement Harry Will Never Believe:_

_I always noticed you._

_Pause so you can scoff, roll your eyes, and say "yeah right"…_

_I shouldn't have been paying attention to you. I had Draco, my courses, my friends. I had my own life, and you weren't due to walk into it until after graduation. So why should I be noticing you?_

_I'm sure it was partially because you were The Boy Who Lived, the boy that I had to take down. We were made enemies by our births, so of course you would attract my attention for that. But there was more to it than just keeping my enemy close. I think I admired you for being able to have your own life despite your grand destiny. Unlike me, your movements weren't dictated by others. You were your own person. I envied you that._

_For years I watched you, until you and Draco left Hogwarts. While Draco was in hiding and you were hunting Horcruxes, I completed my final year at Hogwarts. Then, when I graduated, Voldemort's plan went into action._

_Under orders from the Dark Lord, my father used his influence at the Ministry to have me hired as an Unmentionable in the Department of Mysteries- close enough to the Auror department that our paths would cross, but not close enough for you to need to keep tabs on me._

_The Dark Lord staged a falling out between my parents and me, to give me an excuse to move to London. Closer to you._

_Incidentally, living in London began my metamorphosis. In my little flat, free of my parents' influence and not closely watched by Voldemort, my life was my own for the very first time. I could take a step back and analyze my entire existence, figure out why I was doing what I was._

_I didn't notice this process occurring, at first. My attention was diverted by leading my double life, and then by our paths crossing once again._

* * *

July 16, 2006

Harry walked down the hall to the boardroom where the Auror meetings were held. He had been called for a private briefing, which meant the Auror department's Golden Boy was being sent out on assignment again.

"Harry, m'boy," Mad-Eye Moody said as Harry walked in. "Have a seat."  
"So what's the situation?" Harry asked as he sat opposite his boss and mentor.  
"The Dark Lord's been creating a lot of havoc in Spain lately," Moody said. "At first we thought he was just trying to distract us, but it seems there's more to it than that."  
"Like what?" Harry asked.  
Moody leaned forward, lowering his voice. "We got a hold of two lower-level Death Eaters. The guards overheard them talking about 'the Dark Lord's weapon'. Something he didn't have last time."  
"I thought the weapon was the Prophecy," Harry said, a familiar feeling of doom overtaking him.  
Moody shook his head. "We think the weapon is a reaction to the Prophecy, a way to get around it. We need you to find out what that weapon is."

Harry leaned back in his chair, stunned. A new weapon? Some other thing he'd have to defeat? How was he even supposed to begin looking for it? He could feel a headache coming on…

"We're giving you unlimited access to Ministry assets," Moody said. "Every contact and resource is yours for the taking. From this point on, this is your one mission. We're also assigning you a partner. An Unmentionable, but also an expert on the Dark Side."

The door opened, and Harry turned to see Alana Montblanc glide in. He leaned back in his chair warily, unsure if this was a good or bad idea. Alana sat beside him without sparing him a glance.

"I don't have to impress upon either of you the potential dangers involved in this mission," Moody said. "Take care of each other."

With that, Moody stood and clumped out, leaving the new partners to get to know each other.

Harry stared at her. "What are you doing here? Your entire family's Dark; why are you turning on them?"  
Alana turned to face him. "You remember what I said back in third year, about not approving of Slytherins hunting Muggle-borns?"  
"Yeah…" he said.  
"That extends to abhoring what Voldemort is doing," Alana said. "I don't care if my family is loyal to him, I'm not. I want to bring him down. Even if that means that I have to work with the Ministry- and you."  
"Flattering," he muttered.

* * *

September 01, 2006

They were cloistered in a small room made smaller by the presence of file cabinets, many large and heavy books, thick files, and a forest's worth of paper. The room had become Harry and Alana's library, and they spent most of their time combing through the information here as they meticulously studied each others' notes.

They sat across the table from each other, each at one end, using the Summoning Spell to send each other papers and cartons of Chinese food.

"I can't read anymore," Alana muttered, pushing her notes on Harry's work away. "My brain hurts."

She stood and stretched, adjusting her gray sweats and white tank top, then reached for the carton of orange chicken and her chopsticks.

Harry looked up and nodded. "Breaktime sounds good."

He yawned and stood to make coffee (which was more for Alana, who adored coffee; he preferred Butterbeer), flicking on his magic-run Ipod (a Muggle device with which Alana was fascinated). For a time they just moved around, loosening stiff muscles, stretching and eating while the music played. They made small talk, but nothing important, as they were both sick and tired of words.

Alana glanced at the Ipod when _Only Hope_ started playing. "I remember the last time I heard this."  
"The masquerade?" Harry guessed.

She nodded. For a moment they both stayed in an awkward silence as memories of that dance came to both their minds. They glanced at each other, neither sure how to begin having to conversation they'd never had, but needed to.

"Did you…" Alana began hesitantly.  
"Did I what?" he asked.  
She cleared her throat, irritated that the words wouldn't come to her properly. "That night, the dance… that dance… did you…?" One corner of Harry's mouth rose in an amused smirk. Alana huffed. "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"  
"Yep," he nodded.  
She sighed heavily. "That dance that night… did you feel it too?"  
He nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I felt it."  
She leaned against the table, messing with the plastic bracelets around her wrist. "Sometimes… sometimes I wonder… if that was just the spell," she admitted in a low voice.

Harry picked up his wand and moved everything out of the way, then restarted the song on his Ipod. He held out his hand, which she took, and they began to dance.

For a moment, it was awkward to be in such close contact. But as the music propelled them, everything came rushing back. And as they danced completely of their own volition, without the aid of any magic, it quickly became apparent that there was much, much more between them than just some spell that had been cast on them at a dance a couple of years ago.

The song ended, and for a moment they just stared at each other uncertainly. Harry wasn't conscious of moving, but suddenly his lips were on Alana's, her arms were around her neck, and he was lost to it.

There was no reason nor rhyme to it. Nothing had led up to it, and who knew what would come of it. But suddenly Harry found himself shoving everything off the table and setting Alana down on it, and his fingers were in her hair and she was unbuttoning his shirt, and nothing had ever seemed so natural.


	12. Nothing but the Truth

**Author's Note**: My apologies for taking so long to post this chapter. I'm also posting this story on , and it takes forever to get a chapter validated there, and then… well, you get the point. Enjoy!

* * *

December 25, 2018

Christmas Day dawned bright and early. Following a years-old tradition, Ron, Hermione and their daughter Molly had spent the night at Grimmauld Place, and the adults had gathered in the living room to greet the dawn. Then the children had awoken, and James had carried Molly downstairs on his back to get their presents.

Everyone had merrily exchanged presents. Then Harry had come to an oblong rectangular present, marked only with his name. No note, no clue who sent it.

He stared at it, considering. Should he throw it into the fire, on the chance the gift had been booby-trapped? But… who could have sent it? As far as he knew, all the Death Eaters save the exiled Alana were either dead or imprisoned.

Slowly, he undid the gold ribbon and ripped off the red wrapping paper, always alert in case some hex or curse had been laid on the gift. It was a simple mahogany box, the lid emblazoned with a basilisk entwined around a gryffin. Harry lifted the lid, surprised to find that it was a music box. A tiny smile graced his lips when he recognized the notes of _Only Hope_. This could only have come from one person, and he was relieved that Alana had sent it. Now the gift he'd sent to her- a star pendant necklace made of silver with a small diamond in the middle- wouldn't seem so strange.

His gaze settled on James as he thought of the necklace. He'd bought it 12 years ago, and had once planned to give it to her when she gave birth to their son. Even after everything, he had never thrown it away. He'd tried to many times, but had always ended up tucking it into the secret compartment of his desk, where it had resided for years.

James looked up at his father, and a small knowing smile crossed his lips. "That's from Mother, isn't it? She told me she'd send it. It's a music box, and it has a drawer to hold your quills."

Harry looked, and sure enough found the drawer. Inside was a most unusual black and white quill, with alternating black and white threads of feather.

"What's this?" he asked James, whose grin grew larger.  
"She took a feather from her owl Mordred and wove it with the threads of a dove. It's a combination of a Quick Quotes Quill and a Truth Potion, to ensure that only the truth is written. She wrote the journal with that."

Harry nodded, turning the quill in his hands and silently thanking his son for validating what he'd hoped for. Now that he knew Alana wasn't lying or tricking him, his last reservations about studying her thoughts melted away, leaving him only more curious than ever.

When James and Molly ran outside to play in the freshly fallen snow, Ron and Hermione cuddled up to enjoy the crackling fire. After snickering and making some inappropriate innuendo, Harry walked into his office and picked up Alana's journal, driven by an almost desperate curiosity to know what else she had to say to him.

_

* * *

_

The Dark Lord had made my mission very clear. I was to spy on you, report your doings to Voldemort, and most importantly, get close enough to you that I could lure you to your death.

_The plan had been mercilessly considered, every minute detail meticulously massaged until the whole thing was flawless. But there was one thing Voldemort hadn't considered, one variable he had never thought of._

_He never stopped to think that I might possibly begin to have feelings._

_I never stopped to consider the possibility, either. You were just a job, just a mission I had to complete. I hadn't planned on truly connecting with you. I didn't count on falling in love with you._

_But the longer the mission went, the worse things got. The closer I got to you, the more I began to question everything I'd been taught, everything my family stood for._

* * *

February 17, 2007

Draco Malfoy sat in the living room of his Kent home, settling himself in his favorite armchair before the fireplace with a plate of fettucini alfredo, a glass of white Zinfandel, and one of his favorite Muggle books, _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens. Strangely enough, he'd always associated this book with his life- he was Sidney Carton, Potter was Charles Darnay, and Alana was Lucie Manette. Not that he would ever die for Potter.

He spent a lot of time reading these days. The Dark Lord had him working as an assassin, doing the dirty work so he could prove his loyalty. It was easy enough work if one didn't mind the blood, which left him with a lot of free time. Since he wasn't allowed to seek Alana out, he read voraciously, everything his library offered, anything to take his mind off of his fiancee.

He never heard a word from or about Alana. He wasn't allowed to; there must be no contact between Alana and the Dark side, or Potter would get suspicious. But sometimes, Alana would defy the rules and sneak away, to come to Draco. He needed those times with her- not wanted, needed, with a fierce desperation that almost frightened him. He was rapidly losing control of every aspect of his life, so he was fiercely protective of the few things that were totally his, the most important of which as the woman he loved.

He looked up sharply as the light changed, standing when he saw green flames in his hearth. He really wasn't in the mood for company right now…

His apprehension turned to a soft smile as Alana stepped into the room. Before she could say a word, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, reveling in her warmth and her soft body against his.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here for Valentine's," she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder.  
"You were with him," Draco said simply, anger and jealousy stirring in his gut at the thought of Potter's hands on his fiancee.

Alana nodded, thankfully not divulging any information. Though Draco knew full well what Alana and Potter had to be doing, he'd rather just live in blissful ignorance of the details.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to stake his claim on Alana. As a matter of fact, he meant to claim her many times over.

Three hours and many rounds of lovemaking later, Draco and Alana lounged in his canopied, king-sized bed. He ran her fingers through her hair, which because of sweat was beginning to curl, as she traced lazy patterns on his arm.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, knowing from the look on her face that she was miles away from him.  
"Everything," she replied. "Everything we were ever taught or told to do. Draco…" She hesitated, biting the inner corner of her lip.  
"What, Lala?" he murmured.  
"The longer I spend there, the more I get to know them… the more it makes me question. What if we're wrong? What if everything we were taught about blood purity and magical supremacy is wrong? Why are we fighting them?"  
Draco sighed. "Because Voldemort will destroy us if we don't? You know the history as well as I do. Muggles and magicals lived side by side just fine until the 1000s. Then the Church started persecuting any magical being on the grounds that they were in league with the Devil. So we went into hiding."  
"But why should we still persecute them?" Alana asked. "You really think they'd still try to kill us?"  
"No," Draco said. "Look at them, most of them don't even believe in magic anymore. But they're different from us, Alana. Our worlds are completely different. It's better to keep them as separate as possible, and that's why the blood purity is important."

Alana sighed heavily. Draco's reasoning was more logical than anyone else's she'd heard on this subject, but lately she'd been silently wondering if even he was wrong.

"Do you ever wonder how much of us is us, and how much is our parents?" Alana asked softly.  
Draco sighed. "I have for years. All I know for sure is that I love you, and nobody but you is responsible for that."

Alana tilted her head up to look at him, touched by this uncharacteristic display of feeling. Draco was not demonstrably emotional, having been taught from the youngest age that women were distractions and trophies, but not partners. Furthermore, he'd been taught that Malfoys did not feel such weak emotions as affection, let alone love. So she cherished the few times Draco had verbally admitted his love for her.

He leaned down and kissed her again, but knew that she was lost in her own world. This was happening with alarming frequency; it was as though every time he saw Alana, she had pulled further and further away from him.

"This is our problem, Draco," she sighed, leaning against him. "We've started to think. Death Eaters aren't supposed to do that."  
Draco nodded. "That thinking can't be good for you. You're changing, Alana. I don't know what it is, but your barriers are down. You're different."

Alana didn't answer. She was enveloped in the silence that comes with self-discovery and the utter clarity of the truth.

Alana had been changed. She wasn't the Alana Draco had grown up with. And this change had come as a by-product of one simple fact: she had fallen in love.

She made no outward signs that she had come to this most startling of revelations, but she knew it to the depths of her core. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

And for his safety, and her own, she could never let Harry know that the love she had been feigning for him had finally become true.


	13. Pain

**Author's Note:** Wow this chapter is short. I mean, really short. It's not one of my favorites, but there's a reason I ended the chapter where I did. Hope you like it better than I do.

_

* * *

_

It took them three months, but eventually Ron and Hermione did manage to nurse me back to health. I know I made things hard on them with my depression and my disobedience. I would say I didn't mean to be difficult, but… I did mean it. I wanted to punish them for making me remember you, for forcing me to relive the memories and mistakes of my past life. I wanted them to experience even a fraction of the anger and frusteration I lived with every second of every day. I wanted them to suffer for my pain.

_It was abominable for me to behave in that fashion, and the thought of my deplorable comportment still fills me with guilt._

_When they were satisfied that physically, at least, I had healed (I think they'd realized that mentally and emotionally I would probably never fully recover), they told me it was time to return to Voldemort as a spy. I know they must've rejoiced that day; in order to begin this phase, I would have to move back into my old apartment in London, the one I had bought years ago. Truth be told, I had been looking forward to leaving Grimmauld Place as well; I was almost desperate to escape the memory of you. The memory of you caused such exquisite, torturous, all-consuming pain, Harry. No memory the dementors dredged up-- not even the memory of the Wizengamot taking my children from me-- hurt me as badly as the thoughts of you I conjured on my own._

_Returning to the Dark Lord was, in an odd way, my salvation. Becoming a spy, convincing Voldemort that I was just as faithful to him as I had ever been, took all my concentration and attention, leaving my thoughts miraculously free of you. With my mind thus occupied, it became easier to integrate back into civilized life. At times, I could almost pretend everything was right again._

_Almost._

_When Voldemort asked, I told him some fabricated story about having escaped Azkaban when a new prisoner came, leaping out a window and Apparating to the Muggle's world to recover before making my way back to him. After all, I told him, what use was a Wishgiver who was unable to control her magic?_

_It took me all of five minutes after returning to that world to remember why I'd left it (if only mentally). I despised the Dark Lord. Voldemort had killed you, destroyed Draco, utterly ruined my life and the lives of countless others. And for what? Power?_

_I wanted to bring them down, needed it with a fierceness that surprised even me. So I followed in the footsteps of Severus Snape and began looking for information to destroy them._

* * *

Harry closed the journal, biting his lip. Even a few weeks ago, had he read this entry, he would have ben incredibly happy to picture Alana in pain, grieving endlessly for what she'd done. But now, reading this, almost feeling the pain she'd described, all Harry felt was upset. He wanted to Floo or fly to Alana right this instant, and hold her in his arms until all her pain had vanished.

Because he wasn't angry at her anymore. He was close, so achingly close, to finally understanding her, to knowing the truth and motives behind what she had done, that there wasn't any room for anything but a curious hunger, a fervor, a need to know more, to keep reading until all the mysteries were solved.


	14. It Wasn't What I Thought

**Author's Note**: This is another short chapter, but it's an important one for Alana's character development. It's not often that I got to paint her purely in a sympathetic, heroic light, where she got to be the good guy. This is one of those times. So for that reason alone, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I won't even mention the guilt trip I'm about to put Harry through. :) Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Like I said earlier in the story, I know that the Killing Curse kills people. Hence its name of _Killing _Curse. But I promise there's a good reason why I broke canon, one which I will explain shortly.

* * *

January 02, 2019

Harry settled into his armchair with a contented sigh. He was home once again, back at his beloved Hogwarts, for the start of a new semester, a new year, and a new chapter of Alana's journal.

He went through his day, his mind almost constantly on her- memories from their school days, curiosity about what he'd read next, wondering what she was doing now. He had to laugh at himself- he hadn't behaved like this since he and Alana had been engaged.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that his memories of her were not accompanied by the bitter anger, as they once ahd been. He was free to simply remember, and it was with that attitude that he picked up the journal to read that night.

_

* * *

_

I had been back in the Dark Lord's service for only three weeks when I was ordered to attend a private audience with him. Had I been anyone else, his summons would have terrified me-- Voldemort had been known to kill people in those private meetings.

_But I knew I would be safe. Voldemort needed me too much to kill me. Yet._

_"The rebellion must be destroyed, Alana," he told me as he led me through the dungeons. _

_"I thought you'd eradicated the threats, my lord," I told him, trying my best to look and sound innocent._

_Voldemort turned and stared at me for the longest time, an unreadable expression on his face. It was one of the most frightening moments of my life; having no idea of what was going on, what was expected of me-- I was terrifed._

_"No, Alana," he said softly. "The rebellions will never be done, I think, until I can destroy my final enemy."_

_With that, he pulled on a wall sconce that acted as a trigger to open a door to a secret passageway._

_It was then that Voldemort revealed to me his darkest secret, his biggest failure… and my greatest and brightest triumph._

* * *

August 15, 2013

Voldemort showed Alana into the secret hall, then stepped ahead to mutter the spell to open the lone door. He then stepped back, motioning for his protégé to proceed.

She stepped through the low door cautiously, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the gloom. She stiffened upon hearing something move in the corner; a stifled groan, someone shifting their weight. She walked forward cautiously, almost choking on air that had grown thick with anticipation.

Then her entire world shattered and rearranged.

"Harry," she breathed.

He was half-starved, and filthy, his robs nothing but rags. More animal than man. But there was no mistaking the emerald eyes that now sparkled with anger and hatred.

It was Harry. He was alive.

But how?

Alana had been there the night Voldemort killed him by casting the Killing Curse at him. She'd seen the flash of green light, heard Harry's body hit the ground. How could he have survived?

Unless…

It took all of her training not to smile as the realization hit her. She had won five years ago. She had managed to save him.

"My lord… I… how can this be?" Alana asked breathlessly.

Voldemort scowled. "It would appear that Mr. Potter is completely immune to two of the three Great Curses."

In disgust, Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse at Harry. Alana struggled to keep her composure, but it was difficult. Inside, she writhed in pain with Harry; his pain was her pain, her anger was his anger.

In that moment, Alana vowed to free Harry. No matter what the cost.

_

* * *

_

I started sneaking down to the dungeons to see you. I would always drink an Invisibility Potion, because you had made it perfectly obvious the second time I accompanied Voldemort to the dungeons that you hated me.

Harry winced, biting his lip as he remembered. He had cussed Alana out, called her every name in the book. He'd never thought before now what kind of effect those words had had on her. He'd never thought that he'd hurt her as fiercely as she'd hurt him.

_I would go down as often as I could to check on you. I'd bring you scraps of food, vials of medicine and healing potions, whatever I could to try to strengthen you. All the while, I plotted to get you out, to hasten Voldemort's demise._

* * *

Harry leaned back in his chair, stunned and abashed. He'd never believed that _Alana_ had orchestrated his rescue; he'd always thought that Ron and Hermione had planned it.

Now his beastly behavior toward her seemed even more abominable.

Alana had risked everything to save him. And how had he thanked her? By being incredibly rude to her before telling her he never wanted to see her again.

Maybe he was just as evil as he'd thought she was.


	15. Hal and Lana

**Author's Note**: This is a short chapter, but I really like it. I enjoyed making Harry feel incredibly guilty. Oh, and his sentiments at the end of this chapter are the basis for the sequel- if I ever settle down to getting that written. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I have absolutely no idea why Alana nicknamed Harry "Hal," but I have the sneaking suspicion I stole the name from a book I once read. If I did, please don't sic the author on me!

_

* * *

_

I understood why you hated me; more than understood, actually. I had lied to you, cheapened every moment we'd ever shared, and then, when I had your trust, I betrayed you to your greatest enemy. How could you not loathe me? You would have been a saint if you did not, and I had never made the mistake of assuming you were a saint, Hal.

Upon seeing his nickname, which Alana had used for some reason neither of them remembered, Harry smiled to himself. He had been so caught up in remembering her as Lady Montblanc, Madam Malfoy, the Wishgiver, that he had very nearly forgotten her as nothing more than his Lana.

His smile faded then. Maybe Alana hadn't been the only one to betray them. He had found it easy, so very easy, to believe the worst of Alana, and to hate her for it. His hatred had fueled him for so long that it had blinded him to her utterly. It wasn't Alana that he hated, he realized; it had been the image of her that he'd created in his mind.

Maybe he was just as guilty as she for the murders of Hal and Lana.

_I thought I had been prepared to accept your detestation. But the cold, slow-burning anger I'd been imagining for five years was nothing like the vitriolic hatred with which I was met._

_I tried to shake it off, but your anger left me shaken and surprised. I'd spent five years trying to comfort myself with thoughts that my betrayal wasn't that bad, because I'd never completely won you over, I'd never meant that much to you. But upon finding you alive, the depth and strength of your anger and hatred forced me to realize the severity of my betrayal. I had to face what I had done to you, and take responsibility for it, before I could even begin to think of making things right._

_I spent my days going about my job for the Order. I spent my nights thinking and dreaming of you. When you died, a part of me had died with you. I know you probably won't believe that. But with you died my vivacity, my joy, my hope. When you died, I became what you accused me of being-- cold, distant, haughty, less than human._

_When I found you alive, though, I discovered that that part of myself-- the part that had constituted your Lana-- wasn't dead, as I'd thought. It had merely been buried, along with all the other memories, feelings, and parts of me that had once been yours._

* * *

January 06, 2019

Harry closed the journal, guilt weighing him down. He'd made so many mistakes where Alana was concerned; how could he ever ask her forgiveness?

"I gotta get outta here," he muttered.

He grabbed his broom, but quickly realized there was nowhere on the castle grounds he could go to escape. Groaning, he threw down his Starsweeper 3000 and picked up a bag of Floo Powder.

"5692 Victoria Grove," he said, throwing a handful of powder on the flames.

One dizzying moment later and he was in the kitchen of Ron and Hermione's home, and he was being attacked by his favorite neice.

"Unca Hawwy! Unca Hawwy!" Molly lisped, giggling. "Mama, Unca Hawwy came to see me!"  
"I can see that, Molly," a pregnant Hermione said as she straightened away from the stove. "Go wash up for dinner."

Molly scampered off excitedly, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked knowingly.  
"I had to get away," Harry said, sinking into a chair and burying his face in his hands.  
"Away from work?"  
"From _her_."

Hermione nodded silently, knowing to whom Harry was referring. He'd told Ron and Hermione about the journal at Christmas, and ever since, Hermione had been dying of curiosity, burning to know what Alana had said, and how Harry was reacting.

"I'm so confused, Hermione," he sighed. "I should hate her. I should want her dead, or back in Azkaban."  
"But you don't," Hermione said.  
"Not at all," he shook his head. "I read what she wrote, and… it _hurts_ me, Hermione. It hurts to think of her in pain. And then I find myself thinking back, over everything- the Ministry days, our engagement, James- somehow, I can't believe that she was faking it all. But… if she wasn't faking it…" He groaned. "If she wasn't faking it, then it had to be real. And if that's the case, then that means that I destroyed it, I betrayed her as much as she did me."  
"But Harry… Alana's the one who threw it all away," Hermione said. "She gave you up to Voldemort."  
"And I refused to give her a chance to explain herself," Harry returned. "I cut her out of my life, and James along with her."

He fell silent, then. Yes, he was every bit as guilty as Alana, whether anyone else accepted that truth or not. He knew now what Alana had learned eleven years ago- despite it all, neither of them had been faking anything. They had built that relationship together.

And together they had destroyed it.

Which meant that any hopes of rebuilding what they had broken would entail a joint effort. But perhaps they could resurrect Hal and Lana after all.


	16. The Better Men

**Author's Note**: I was going through the system of folders in which I keep all my stories, and I realized that I hadn't updated this story in for-freaking-ever. My sincerest apologies, and please do enjoy this long-overdue chapter!

There are three more chapters after this one. After I've wrapped this story up, I have to get my ass in gear and find an appropriate offering to tempt my Muse, because there I have plans for both a prequel and a sequel to this story, and she's gotta give me the inspiration to write them.

* * *

January 07, 2019

Another sunset bathed the Great Hall of Hogwarts as Harry sat down to dinner. From his seat in the center of the professors' table, he could observe any student he chose to. Tonight, his eyes were on a certain head of unruly black hair at the Gryffindor table.

James sat surrounded by a group of students that reminded Harry so much of himself and his friends that he couldn't be sure he wasn't looking through Dumbledore's Pensieve. Selene Longbottom, daughter of Neville and Luna… Shane Thomas, whom Dean had named in honor of Seamus after Seamus had been killed… Rose Gregory, Lavender Brown-Gregory's child… Fred and Bill Weasley, George's twins. Watching them was almost like seeing his childhood again.

Harry had to admire his son; James had inherited the best of both his parents. He'd combined Harry's charisma with Alana's poise to create a charm all his own, an air that won him friends who liked him for a reason beside his father's fame and his mother's infamy. And even though Harry could take no credit for how James was turning out, he couldn't help but be incredibly proud of his son.

It was with James on his mind that Harry walked out to Alana's favorite spot by the lake and opened the journal.

_

* * *

_

I told you that I wasn't supposed to get pregnant, that Voldemort had expressly forbidden it. When I could no longer conceal my pregnancy, Draco lied for me, told the Dark Lord that the child was his. At least, it was partially a lie; until the child was born there was no way to tell if the father was you or Draco. It was a dangerous gamble; if Voldemort ever discovered that Draco had lied to him, both Draco and I would have been publicly tortured and killed.

_I know that there have been, and probably will always be questions about James' paternity, so let me say this right now: James is your son. I know I told you that he wasn't, that night when you were supposedly killed, but it was a lie. James was given Draco's name in order to protect all three of us, and Draco saw James as his child, but he is your son._

_I couldn't fool everyone with the lie. Draco of course knew the truth, and several others- my parents, Blaise and Emily, Pansy- suspected that we were lying. But as long as the Dark Lord believed our story, no one dared to say anything against it._

_Not only did the Dark Lord believe us, he was ecstatic. He hoped that a child of Draco's and mine would be naturally skilled at telepathy and telekinesis- which Julian is._

_When I had an afternoon to myself, I checked your family tree against mine. Unless a certain recessive gene kicks in during puberty, James will be completely normal, no special powers to worry about. Which, believe me, is an absolute relief. Children with extraordinary powers can be holy terrors to control- it's hard to direct Julian's powers when he has me suspended three meters in the air._

Harry laughed at the image, recalling stories Alana had told him of her childhood before she'd learned to control her magic. She had described herself as a holy terror… it sounded as though Julian were giving her a taste of her own medicine.

Harry leaned back, wondering about Alana's younger son, her child with Draco. What was Julian Draco Malfoy like? Was he his father's son, destined to be arrogant, caustic, and cruel? Or was he like his mother? He could only imagine, but he thought that Julian would likely become who Draco would have been, had he not been polluted by the Dark side. Intelligent, sarcastic, elegant, reserved, charming, a smartass.

Harry sighed as he closed the journal. He knew that the Ministry of Magic would periodically check up on Alana at her home in France, to be sure she was behaving herself. For some reason, most likely because he had been the target of her mission, Harry was always given a report of the investigations. That was how he knew that Alana lived in her grandmother's home, Monticrief Manor, in Marseille, and that she was a virtual recluse, unable to find a job [not that she needed the money].

It always puzzled him, that she lived at Monticrief Manor. She'd always said how she'd hated it there; why would she return?

Unless she hadn't been the one to choose…

He hadn't thought of it before, but it made perfect sense if the Ministry had made the same mistake he had- to judge her as Lady Montblanc, the Death Eater, and to make arrangements for her based on her reputation.

Harry exhaled heavily, rubbing his face. If that had been the case, the Ministry had mistreated her almost as badly as he had. So the only people in her life who hadn't abused her were her sons. James and Julian were better men than he was, and they were only children.

It was good that Alana had them, then, if only to offset the abuse she'd suffered from the rest of the world.

* * *

June 12, 2013

Alana walked through the cemetery, towards Draco's grave. She'd snuck away every day to come sit here. Ron would be furious when he found out, but she didn't care. She found it far too soothing and beneficial to sit by Draco's headstone and remember both him and Harry to regret disobeying Ron's command to stay in Grimmauld Place.

With a sigh of relief, Alana sat down Indian-style before the headstone. "Hey Drake," she greeted him softly. "Sorry I'm late, Ron's been watching me like a hawk."

Shimmying herself around to lean her back against the headstone, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander where it would. It was strange, but sitting here allowed her to feel more relaxed than she ever had.

"This reminds me of sneaking around Hogwarts to meet you," she murmured, laughing softly. "I miss that."  
"Excuse me, miss?"

Alana's eyes snapped open at the woman's voice. Strange; for a moment she could've sworn she'd heard…

Alana's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she scrambled to her feet and stared at the woman. Her platinum blond hair, the silver barely noticeable, was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. There were new lines around her blue eyes, and she was dressed more casually, but there was no mistaking Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mom," Alana breathed, moving forward as if in a dream.  
Narcissa stared. "Alana?"

A second passed, and then the two women were embracing. The tears flowed unchecked as the mother- and daughter-in-law were reunited at the grave of the man they'd both loved.

"Oh, Alana, I thought I'd never see you again!" Narcissa said, holding the younger woman's face in her hands.  
Alana smiled through the tears. "I never thought I'd leave Azkaban."

She would've said more, but her attention was diverted by two small children a little way away. One had black hair and green eyes. He was standing in front of his half-brother, who had white-blond hair and gray eyes, shielding him from the strange woman.

"Grandma, who is this?" the older one asked.

But Alana needed no words as she slowly walked towards her sons. Relief washed over her; her boys hadn't been separated, and they'd been raised by their grandmother. She'd still never forgive the Wizengamot, but at least her sons were safe.

"James, Julian, this is your mother," Narcissa said, her voice choked with tears. "Didn't I tell you she would come back for you?"  
A huge smile grew on Julian's face. "Mummy!" he squealed before hurling himself into Alana's arms.

It took James a second longer, but at long last Alana was holding her boys in her arms again. It was at that moment that she knew she would never be able to accept the Dementors' Kiss now. She had her sons back, and nothing would ever take her from them again.


	17. Nothing is as it Seemed

**Author's Note**: This chapter is disgustingly short. Which part of me hates; I prefer to write chapters that are between 5-9 pages long on Word. This is 2. But part of me really likes how blunt it is, likes that Harry (and, by extension, you the reader) has no chance to react to what he reads this time. It's very stark, very blunt. Which is kinda cool. Enjoy, hate, whatever… but read!

_

* * *

_

If you'll forgive my saying so, I'm incredibly proud of the plan Ron, Hermione and I came up with to save you. So simple, but so effective! I've always considered that plan one of my more brilliant moments.

_It was inspired by you, and your exploits second year. A simple plan, really; Ron and Hermione would Polyjuice themselves to masquerade as Crabbe and Goyle. We would go down to your dungeon, and Polyjuice you to masquerade as me. Ron and Hermione would escort you out, and I would Polyjuice myself as Theodore Nott to get out. Then you and I would be hidden at Grimmauld Place._

_Such a simple plan; such a complicated execution._

_Maybe it was just my anxiety, but everything seemed to go wrong, or nearly go wrong. Crabbe and Goyle were late coming to our rendezvous point, and it took longer than usual for the potion to work. We almost missed the changing of the dungeon guard, which was our only chance to get you._

_Then the fight you put up against me! Not that I blame you at all. Had our roles been reversed, I would have refused to cooperate too._

* * *

Harry winced, rubbing the back of his neck ashamedly. He vividly remembered the rescue; he had called Alana every nasty name in the book- both the Muggle and wizarding books- he'd lashed out at her, and had nearly succeeded in sabotaging his own escape. Only Alana cutting in and telling him that Ginny was still mourning him shut him up long enough for the plan to work.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. All that danger Alana had put herself in… And she had done it for him. It made his behavior toward her seem even more unspeakable. He'd never even thanked her.

His mind drifted back to the period of time they had spent cloistered together at Grimmauld Place. The house had seemed impossibly small; he'd been unable to avoid Alana. The tension, the animosity, and the close quarters had seemingly conspired against them. Compared to the first time they'd lived together, it was hell.

It had been Alana who'd dressed and nursed the injuries he'd sustained, and Alana who nursed him back to health. She'd been the one to reorient him to the world. She had dealt with his foul moods, his frusteration, his hatred. And she had borne it all without ever once lashing out at him.

She had even been the one to get Ginny and him back together. She had sent Ginny an anonymous letter, saying she had personal effects of Harry's. Ginny had come to Grimmauld Place to collect them, and Alana had brought her to Harry.

Harry sat back abruptly, thinking. He had never once paused to consider how Alana might have felt about the whole situation. He'd assumed that she'd been indifferent about him, and wanted to avoid him as much as he'd wanted to avoid her.

But thinking back, her actions proclaimed emotions completely different than indifference. She'd tended him carefully, giving him her full attention. She could have done no better if she were his mother or his wife-

He cut off that thought train, his eyes widening. Oh no. No, no, no. He was reading too deeply into this, looking for patterns where there were none. Alana had **not** been in love with him.

Because he wasn't sure he could handle the emotional repercussions if she had been.

_

* * *

_

I know my actions speak differently, but don't think I hated you when we were hiding together. I was furious with myself for being the cause of your demise; I was angry that I had to remain in hiding, away from my sons, though I knew the Dark Lord would know I had had a part in your escape, and he would be out to kill me; I was terrified Voldemort would get his hands on my children and hurt them to force my surrender. All of that pressure got to me. Add onto that the utter confusion into which your presence had thrown me, and there you have the recipe for an unnecessarily moody Alana.

_But I didn't hate you. Far from it. In truth, I never hated you. Even when I betrayed you to Voldemort, it wasn't out of hatred. Honestly, I didn't know during those weeks in Grimmauld Place what I felt for you. Even now, I'm not completely sure what those feelings were. But I __never__ hated you, Hal._

_But you hated me. I knew it; you made it absolutely clear that you loathed me, and would never forgive me. I understood that; I hadn't expected forgiveness. I also knew you were aching to fulfill your prophecy, kill the Dark Lord, and be gone from Grimmauld Place. So I didn't attempt to waste your time trying to change your mind about me. Instead, I focused on getting you to the Final Battle, to the point where our paths would split once again, this time for good._


	18. The Inevitable Choice

**Author's Note**: In celebration of the fact that I am now completely finished with my junior year of college (YAY!), I am posting the rest of this story. Which means I'm posting two chapters and an epilogue. They're short, but I'm a wee bit anxious to finish this story and get on with the sequel. Enjoy!

* * *

March 17, 2019

For two months, he had avoided her.

He'd not written her a single letter, he'd avoided the places on campus he most strongly connected to her, and under no circumstances did he so much as _look_ at that black leather-bound journal.

Alana Montblanc wasn't the only one suffering from an influx of guilt.

The more of her journal he read, the more Harry Potter realized how horribly he'd misjudged her. For eleven years, he had been so consumed by bitter hatred that he had never stopped to consider her side of the story. He had been as bad as the papers, perfectly happy to cast himself as the victim, the tragic hero so terribly betrayed by the villainous _femme fatale_ that was Alana Montblanc Malfoy.

Only now was he starting to see that the story was more complicated than he'd known. Yes, she was still the one who'd facilitated his defeat, but Harry suspected that there had been more forces pressuring Alana than he'd thought, that the situation wasn't a simple betrayal.

For eleven years, he had avoided her out of anger. Now, he avoided her out of guilt. He'd been so horribly mistaken about Alana so far; what else about her had he gotten wrong?

However, though he tried his hardest to ignore her, she refused to be forgotten. He found himself thinking of her frequently, wondering how different she was from the woman he remembered.

Oh, he remembered. How he remembered. Memories of Alana could be- and were- triggered by anything. Meetings with the Governors or the Minister of Magic conjured memories of department meetings he and Alana had attended, and how they'd write each other notes to keep themselves awake. Walking through the halls reminded him of times he'd passed Alana while walking to class, or passing her in the Ministry halls, having an entire conversation in one glance. And at night… well, suffice it to say that even his dreams weren't free of her.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was under some sort of spell. When he thought that, his mind would always stray back to a memory of a Halloween dance, when an old man's spell had pulled Harry and Alana together for a single dance.

_For those who appear similar to you may be the ones wearing the most clever masks of all._

For years, Harry had thought that Dumbledore had been trying to warn him that Alana wasn't to be trusted. But now he knew that, as usual, Dumbledore's meaning had been much more convoluted.

Indeed, Alana's mask was had been the most clever of them all. Her mask was created of the preconceptions of the person looking at her, and like a mask, those preconceptions concealed what was really underneath. Beneath her mask, what appeared to be similarities to Harry proved in fact to be profound differences. Alana wasn't like Harry at all; she was wonderfully, gloriously different.

The mask had finally been pulled from her. For years, Harry had thought the mask was her true face, had in fact needed her true nature to be hidden from him. But now he had once again stripped her mask away, was now beholding her true face.

They no longer danced around each other, each hiding behind their own mask. They stood before each other, unmasked, staring at the other's true essence.

He was close now, so very close to the center of the mystery. The final mask was about to be lifted from Alana. He could avoid her no longer.

_

* * *

_

I was surprised when you asked me for my help in defeating Voldemort. But perhaps I should have expected it- after all, I did have the contacts behind enemy lines. And I was one of the enemy, so who better to plan a war with?

_Whatever your motives, I was secretly pleased that we were in it together. If I tried hard enough, I could almost pretend it was the old days, that none of the mistakes of the past had been made, that we were 19 and on top of the world and certain of victory. The moments where I could convince myself of that were the happiest I'd been in quite a while. I needed that happiness so much that I was willing to go through the despair that inevitably followed when I was reminded that those days were very much dead. _

_For all the build-up and preparation we put ourselves through, the end of the War was decidedly anticlimactic. For weeks we had schemed, conceiving and discarding plans, arguing over minutia. Then it finally came… and just like that, it was over. No trumpets blaring fanfares, no bells and whistles. Maybe it's for the best that it ended so quietly; the time for this ending was long overdue, and when it came it felt as though it had been there all along, and we just hadn't realized it._

* * *

November 18, 2013

Alana glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye as they stood in the cemetery of Riddle House, waiting. So much had happened in the last eight months, so much that she'd had no time to come to terms with. Being given her freedom, becoming a spy, getting her children back, learning Harry was alive, nursing him back to health, adjusting the relationship so it was appropriate for two people who "hated" each other… All of it melded together and faded into insignificance when it was faced with this moment.

Harry stood resolute, commanding, confident. He spared Alana not a single glance as he stared into the darkness and waited.

Without looking at her, he muttered, "Now."

Alana swallowed hard; this was it. The beginning of the end. She lifted her arm, jiggling her wrist to move her thin metal bracelets out of the way, baring her star brand. Bracing herself for the burning pain, she placed her wand to the brand and called the Dark Lord.

Alana stood tall beside Harry, trying to appear as confident as he, but beneath her calm exterior she was terrified. Voldemort would kill her for her defection, and two against six weren't good odds.

And then, suddenly, there he was. The end of the road that Harry had trod for so many years… the puppeteer of Alana's life… the goal they had sought for so very long.

"Well, well," Voldemort said softly. "So the prodigal returns, with the fugitive in custody. Well done, Alana."

Harry and Voldemort both watched Alana. This was the crucial moment. Alana had to choose a master; which side would she betray this time?

Alana closed her eyes, calling upon her magic. Since her release from Azkaban, she had re-taught herself what she had learned in Hogwarts, and had practiced until her skills were back to the level they had been when she was an Unmentionable. But she had not yet tried to use her power as a Wishgiver.

The moment for decision had come, and Alana made the only possible choice.

She opened her eyes as she began to glow white. "Yes, Voldemort, I have returned," she said in a voice that echoed and magnified itself. "But not to you."

The force of the magic was so strong that it lifted Alana into the air. She glowed as bright as the stars overhead, and bursts of silver sparks erupted around her.

Voldemort, now knowing himself to be betrayed, whipped out his wand and pointed it at Harry.

"Avada Kedavra!" both he and Harry yelled.

Once upon a time, they had stood locked in battle like this, their wands bonded. But that time, Harry hadn't had access to Alana's magic.

"Star light… star bright… first star I see tonight…" he muttered between gritted teeth, speaking the spell that connected him to the Star, "I wish I may… I wish I might… have this wish I wish tonight."

He dared to glance away from the connection between his and Voldemort's wands for a moment as his eyes sought Alana's. Though she had her hands full harnessing her magic and protecting herself from the Death Eaters, she turned her head to look at him… and nodded.

Harry wrenched his wand out of the connection, hurling himself out of the way and rolling behind a headstone as Voldemort threw a Body-Bind Curse at him. He raised his hand to catch the last of the connection that clung to his wand, screaming as it seared his hand. He clenched his fist, forcing the magic into a deadly ball of green. Then he stood.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he bellowed, lobbing the ball at Voldemort.

For a moment, time hung suspended. Voldemort was illuminated by the sickly green of Harry's spell; Harry was bathed in the silver glow of Alana's magic.

Then Harry was blinded by a burst of green, and deafened by a sonic BOOM accompanied by a blinding white light.

When his faculties returned, Harry found himself the only one left alive in a field of death. Voldemort and his followers lay scattered on the ground, dead and broken by Alana's magic.

Alana… Harry hurried to her side. She lay on the ground, her breathing labored, her lovely face twisted in an expression of pain. But she was alive, and she had helped him win.

Gingerly, he picked her up in his arms. "Come on, let's get you taken care of," he sighed.

No kiss, no declarations of love, not even an admission that he didn't hate her. Despite what she had just done, she was still a traitor, and tomorrow he would go back to hating her. He might be grateful to her, but this didn't change anything.

_

* * *

_

After all was said and done and the world knew you were alive, what was there for me to do but to distance myself from you? You had made it perfectly clear that you had no desire to have anything to do with me. You married Ginny almost before the world learned of your triumph, and threw yourself into catching the rest of the Death Eaters, reclaiming your position as the best Auror in the department.

_The Ministry grudgingly thanked me for my role in Voldemort's death, but made it clear that England held no welcome for me. So I returned to the Malfoy Manor long enough to gather my children, and I left for exile in France. What more was left for me?_


	19. The Painful Truth

**Author's Note**: And now we come to the end of this depressing little story. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. Someday (hopefully someday soon) I hope to have the sequel and prequel ready to post, so if you're still interested in the story of Harry and Alana (or if you'd prefer to learn about the story of Draco and Alana), keep an eye out for that. There is an epilogue after this chapter, but it's really only about story notes and things like that; nothing truly important. Thank you to all those who have reviewed and followed this story; I truly do appreciate it. This is _In The Darkness I Remain_, signing off.

_

* * *

_

I've come to the end of what I can tell you, Harry. There is one more part to our story- the reason why I betrayed you. But that isn't my story to tell. For that story, you have to ask Cho.

_The only thing I can explain now is why you didn't die when Voldemort hit you with the Killing Curse._

_Every so often, when she's under duress, a Star can pour all of her magic into one wish for herself, and that wish is instantly manifested. The night you 'died'- I used my wish that night. I wished that the Killing Curse would never kill you. I wished with everything I had that you wouldn't die._

_I had hoped, up until the moment I walked away from you, that you would make a wish, so that I could save you. You had control of my heart, at that point more than Draco did. Had you wished it, I could have saved you._

_The thought that my wish had failed haunted me for years, until the day Voldemort revealed the truth to me._

_Five years later, the night you defeated Voldemort, you made a wish to use Voldemort's Killing Curse against him. No curse or spell can deflect that Curse, but as I have often said, there is no force more powerful than humanity's ability to wish. It is powerful enough to conquer the Killing Curse._

_So. That's everything. I've told you all I can, Harry; what comes next is completely up to you._

_-Alana_

* * *

March 30, 2019

Harry closed the now-completed journal, feeling sick to his stomach. A horrible dread grew in his stomach as suspicion formed.

What if she hadn't been the one to betray him?

What if she had in fact been the one to save him, and had had to live with the stigma of a treachery she hadn't committed?

What if he had been more wrong than he'd dared to imagine?

What if Alana wasn't a traitor… but a heroine?

There was only one thing to do. He had to talk to Cho.

* * *

April 06, 2019

He shuddered as he entered the island prison of Azkaban. This forbidding fortress was a chilling reminder of the evil not long dead, and of the evil still in the world.

The prison guards had been informed that Harry would be coming to interrogate Cho Chang, so when he came they escorted him to the interview chamber, which hadn't been used since the day Ron and Hermione came to interrogate Alana.

As Ron and Hermione had with Alana, Harry took a moment to compare the Cho he remembered to the woman before him. She had once been very pretty, her long, thick black hair framing a lovely half-English, half-Chinese face. She'd had very saucy, lively eyes, and a sly mouth.

She was gaunt and haggard now, half-starved and wild. Her hair was dull and hopelessly tangled, her beauty nearly forgotten. The eyes that had once been perennially hidden behind tears were now frenzied; the smile had turned to a mocking sneer.

Harry felt disgusted. The girl he'd once fancied had grown into a traitor, an enemy.

He held up Alana's journal. "Do you know what this is?" he asked quietly.  
"I've no idea," she said, her voice almost as fast as her frantic eyes.  
"This is a letter, sent to me by Alana Montblanc," he said. "Explaining what happened eleven years ago. Do you know why I'm here, Cho?"  
Cho smiled, a smile of pure malice. "To hear me tell you why she betrayed you."  
"Yes," Harry said mildly. "Only, I have this funny feeling that she wasn't the one that was the traitor."

The words came, slowly at first, then faster and more frantically. The most incredible thing was, Cho was _proud_ of what she'd done.

As the story progressed, Harry got more and more incensed. Cho's motive was, of course, jealousy of Alana. Alana was the Dark Lord's favorite, Alana had always been adored and feared, Alana was beautiful and rich, and Alana had Harry. So Cho schemed to bring her down.

Cho had spied around and discovered that Alana had fallen in love with Harry, and was going to abandon the Dark Lord. She'd also figured out that Alana was carrying Harry's child. So she'd blackmailed Alana, told her to keep to the mission, or Cho would tell Voldemort the identity of the baby's father. So to protect the child, Alana had been forced to betray the father.

Furthermore, Cho had figured out the contents and meaning of Harry's Prophecy. She had become a double agent for Voldemort, cozying up to Harry, watching Alana, and orchestrating the trap that Alana was forced to lead Harry into.

Alana had been blackmailed into helping Harry choose a date for the Final Battle, and then had been forced to return to Voldemort to tell him when Harry was coming. She had been forced to round up the Death Eaters, and had had to watch Harry fall.

Harry had to leave before he threw a Killing Curse at Cho. He was furious with her… but even more incensed with himself. He should've known. He should have trusted Alana. But he'd been so blinded by the roles carved out for them by the War that he hadn't seen the truth.

When he got back to Hogwarts, he nearly ran to his office. He furiously scribbled a note, then sent Hedwig soaring.

_I know the truth._

_I'll make it all right again._

_I promise._

He had no idea how to fix what had happened. He didn't know what form this relationship could take.

But swore that he would fix things between him and Alana, if it killed him.


	20. Epilogue: It Doesn't Stop Here

Play Bys:

Young Alana: Kristen Kreuk  
Adult Alana: Patricia Velasquez

Harry: Daniel Radcliffe  
Draco: Tom Felton

James: HPSS-era Daniel Radcliffe (but with better hair)  
Julian: HPSS-era Tom Felton (but with better hair)

* * *

Soundtrack:  
(I listened to this mix during most of the process of writing this story. So blame that for the emo tone.)

Bittersweet, Within Temptation  
Memories, Within Temptation  
Broken, Seether feat. Amy Lee  
What I've Done, Linkin Park  
Desert Rose, Sting  
I Wrote This Song, Making April  
Everything, Lifehouse  
Only Hope, Switchfoot  
All I Need, Within Temptation  
Never Alone, Barlow Girl  
It's Not Over, Secondhand Serenade  
Temper Temper, Envy on the Coast  
Quiet Mind, Blue October  
You Wanted More, Tonic  
Broken, Lifehouse  
Collide, Howie Day  
Forgiven, Within Temptation  
Fall For You, Secondhand Serenade  
Here's to the Nights, Eve 6

* * *

Fun Facts:

- Originally, _Darkness_ was going to be told linearly, from Ron and Hermione getting Alana out of Azkaban to Alana and Harry putting their life back together. I decided to change it because I got the idea of Alana keeping a diary of what had happened to her, and I wondered what would happen if Harry read that journal. Then I grew to really like the idea of jumping around in the timeline, matching up Alana's journal entries with Harry's present and bits and pieces of their separate and collective pasts. That idea eventually became the version of _Darkness_ here today.

- Originally, _Darkness_ was going to have a happy ending, and no sequel (that's the hallmark of my early writing; everything ends happily. Now, that doesn't happen quite as often, and when it does it's not until after a boatload of angst). And by happy ending, I mean Alana and Harry forgiving each other and falling back in love, getting married, and having another child while forging themselves and the boys into one big happy family. I changed it because (a) Julian Malfoy didn't quite fit into that happy family of Alana/Harry/James, and (b) as my concept of the story changed, I realized that there was way too much for Harry and Alana to work through to attempt to give them a happy ending in one story (much less be close enough [or close enough to each other when drunk] to have any sort of physical relationship). Which is how the idea of the sequel came to me. Will there be a happy ending in the sequel? We'll see...

- Originally, Alana was not a Wishgiver; she was called an Unnamed, so-called because certain magickal traditions state that to name a thing is to have power over it, and no one was supposed to be able to control this kind of witch. Originally, Alana's powers had nothing to do with granting wishes; she was just a conduit for raw energy and magic. She would let that power build, and then expell it all at once, like a bomb. Remnants of that idea can be seen in ch. 18, when Alana's magic lifts her off the ground and illuminates her like a lightbulb. When Alana was an Unnamed, the idea was supposed to be that she was feared not so much for who she was, but what she had the potential to do. I changed her powers around because the idea of twisting the use of wishing and turning it into a weapon was really intriguing to me.

- At one point, Draco was going to be alive throughout the entire plot, and locked in Azkaban. Meaning, originally Alana was going to have to choose between her childhood love and the one she wasn't meant to love. I changed that because as I've grown as an author, I've come to like tragedy and unhappiness. I rather fancy putting Draco in the spot of the tragic antihero.

- Alana's backstory used to play a much more integral part in the story. Early on in the plotting process, while Harry was reading the journal I was going to have him tracking down her history. Originally Alana was going to be a much shadier and more mysterious character. But I decided to use only those parts of her background that were important to the central idea of the story: why she betrayed Harry. And eventually I decided that I would tell Alana's backstory; but I would do it in a prequel, so I could give it all the attention it deserves.

- Originally, it was going to be Alana who betrayed Harry. Originally, she really did turn her back on him, and betrayed him to Voldemort in order to keep her standing among the Death Eaters. But I changed that for a few reasons: (a) I could never quite justify why Alana would do such a thing, because I always saw her as a rather noble character. (b) I knew that if Alana actually had betrayed Harry, none of my story would work at _all_. (c) I instantly fell in love with the idea that Alana became a victim of the war herself, that by falling for Harry she put herself in danger, and when that danger was exploited by a jealous third party (Cho) Alana lost everything and had to take the blame for something she didn't really do. Maybe it was a cop-out on my part, but I like the edit of that situation much better than how I originally saw it.

- I started writing this story a _really_ long time ago- I believe it was either just prior to or just after the release of OotP (the book, not the movie). I had it all plotted out and everything... but then I lost interest, and moved on to other projects. I just happened to stumble across my notes for _Darkness_ last year, and decided to sit down and write it out. So this was almost The Plot That Wasn't.

* * *

But Wait! There's More!

There's a Sequel!

Title: _Lead Us to the Light  
_Characters: Alana Montblanc, Harry Potter, James Montblanc, Julian Montblanc Malfoy, Ron and Hermione Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Bellatrix Lestrange, Tisiphone Niger  
Setting: France, England, Scotland, Spain  
Premise: Harry and Alana are reunited just in time to watch a new age begin... a new age suspiciously like the last dark age. Has the Dark Lord left behind a legacy? Is the growing shadow a new wave of terror, or a continuation of the old? And will Harry Potter step up once again to defeat it... or will someone else be asked to make the sacrifice?

As If That Weren't Enough...

There's A Prequel!

Title: _The Light in the Darkness  
_Characters: Lord Voldemort, Camilla Montblanc, Hugh and Lucretia Montblanc, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Draco and Scorpius Malfoy, Alana Montblanc, Charlotte Sinclair  
Setting: England, France  
Premise: The Dark Lord engineered everything. He arranged a marriage in order to breed a weapon, a weapon that would ensure him victory in the growing war between good and evil, dark and light. But his weapon is not a thing of steel and wheels; it is a living, breathing little girl by the name of Alana. And by forgetting that the Dark Lord's Star is a human being, by plunging her into a dangerous world of greed, ambition, and evil, a world for which she is not prepared, they are threatening to destroy everything they've hoped to build.

* * *

So, if any of that sounds like your cup of tea, do please be patient with me as I struggle to get my Muse's rear in gear to write all this out!


End file.
